


You've Just Found Religion

by Destinyawakened, orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Path (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Blood Kink, Character Death, Cults, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Drugging, Dry Humping, Frottage, God talk, Hurt/Comfort, Knives, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Needles, Priest Kink, Religion, Rutting, Sleep Walking, Slow Burn, The Path - AU, Violence, aggressive!Cal, cal roberts is actually will graham, dark!Will, dom/sub themes, metronomes, meyerism, plato - Freeform, smut talk, top!Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyawakened/pseuds/Destinyawakened, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights, he woke in a fit, with images of things behind his eyes that no one should ever see. Some nights he struggled to breath, like he was drowning, only to wake in a sweat, soaked through his sheets and covers. Some nights he saw a pretty blonde, with cherubic cheeks and baby blue eyes. Some nights he got so caught up in his nightmares that he woke in places he couldn’t remember getting into. Some nights, Cal Roberts just wanted answers.</p><p>OR: What if Will Graham lived but had been saved by Jack Crawford, but had amnesia, finding himself in a new life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Not beta'd, sorry if you see any mistakes  
> 2) The Path canon up to the end of episode 2, diverges from there since, well, we don't have anything to go off from there (we'll see how this goes eh?)  
> 3) Given how little we know of the movement and the religion itself, there may be changes in later chapters to flow easier, again, we'll see how the show goes. Next chapter, Hannibal's side of things. Promise.  
> 

_\--You’ve just found religion; nothing more dangerous than that._

Some nights, he woke in a fit, with images of things behind his eyes that no one should ever see. Some nights he struggled to breath, like he was drowning, only to wake in a sweat, soaked through his sheets and covers. Some nights he saw a pretty blonde, with cherubic cheeks and baby blue eyes. Some nights he got so caught up in his nightmares that he woke in places he couldn’t remember getting into. Some nights, Cal Roberts just wanted answers.

Answers usually came in the form signs, of people and things, visions. Cal took great pride in being able to read people, in helping them _see_ past their own pain, to let go, and let peace offer them a place in the community-- inside the compound or out, it hardly mattered so long as he had followers. So long as he had this, so long as he had a purpose, the camp, the movement and his ‘ _family_ ’, Cal would be content.

Keeping busy was the key to everything, especially these days, with the founder so ill, it was especially important. Cal had to keep his mind settled, keep things moving, and do what was best for their community, to keep it thriving. Steve Meyers, the man who taught Cal everything he knew from a young age, the man who gave him this duty to uphold and watch over the East Coast Sect of their community, trusted Cal with everything, even in his sickly state, of which Cal wasn’t even sure he’d make it out of.

Responsibility was now in his hands, an unnerving and yet beautiful a thought that was, Cal was so sure he might just mess this up. These were fears he unburdened on no one. They were childish and repulsive, even to himself. Instead, Cal listened to enlightenment tapes, self help and how-tos. He meditated, he worked out, and he taught.

Cal, at heart was a teacher, a leader second.

To the front, Cal was both, a teacher and leader, a man so many in his compound looked up to. He was Steve Meyer’s second hand, the man that would take over the movement when the founder died, which was so much closer than Cal would admit to anyone. Death was not beyond them, they all knew and realized in time it was inevitable, and they would all reach the Garden and be together.

That was the ultimate goal at the end of life.

However, every so often, Cal wasn’t so sure he had many people who would meet him there. Sarah, perhaps, though their friendship had grown more sibling than anything; her with her family, and Cal with…

Well, Cal with nothing. He preferred it that way, for the most part, though try as he might, there was not a soul he could look on and want, even if his body said yes, his mind left him blank and emotionless, a void that needed filling, and never with those he’d come across.

Cal accepted his aloneness as part of his calling. His Duty was to help others and whether they joined the movements or not, knowing that they had _saved_ them was satisfying. To a point.

***

“It’s going to be okay,” Cal said, assuredly, confidently looking at the dark skinned woman as he reached for her crying infant, both covered in a bit of blood, but nothing life threatening.

Hysterical, the woman tried to hold on to her baby longer, but Cal let his eyes settle on her, easing his position into kneeling, at her level, friendly, but not never overbearingly so.

“Ma’am, we’re going to take care of your baby.” And her, too of course. He touched her neck with one hand as the other curled around the baby, holding it close, the crying never ceasing, but the woman did calm, her eyes softer and relieved as Cal reassured her and she believed him.

This was why he did what he did. Followers were made of people who had given up on God, who wanted anything -- something -- just to believe again. Meyerism would give this woman her belief back, as they helped her and her baby into a van, Cal was sure of they’d just recruited at least two lives.

Maybe more. Tragedy had a way of striking fear and condoning ill will and feelings, but with it came the chance to unburden and start a new. Every person had a sad story, every person had a life to escape from in some form; some worse than others. Cal wanted to show every single one of them that suffering didn’t have to be, that peace could be, they just had to want it bad enough.

As Cal walked through the tornado disaster zone, he talked to many, he helped many, patting shoulders and shaking hands, never long enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to present empathy, to feel for them, to know their pain and let them see that someone cared, not simply that they were alive, but to for their future, should they want it.

Among the survivors was a girl, a young woman, named Mary. She was blonde and blue eyed, reminded Cal of the vision of the woman he saw in dreams, but only a little. This girl was wrecked, from the inside out. She didn’t need to tell him, though her affirmation only made him feel for her more. She had offered herself up to him, something he hadn’t quite foreseen, and when he denied her, the crushed look on her face made him want to _destroy_ the man -- her father-- who made her believe her worth was in sex alone.

He would fix it. If he could not get her to believe with just words alone, he’d use his honed skills to bring it out of her, belief in him, in the movement. It would take time, but her fascination with him would be her ultimately undoing.

Or, rather, her _becoming._

***

Sarah couldn’t help but to tell Cal of her marriage woes, which did little but make Cal protective of her. He’d always been this way, ever since they were kids. He might not have been right for her, he might even flirt with her still, but it was the natural way of things, and he cared for her and her family deeply. Even Eddie, her husband.

Sarah sat there, looking at him as he put his shirt on, buttoning it up slowly, watching her carefully as she reminisced. “...Your hands were like fire. I thought, This guy could never really love a person. Not for the years, he needs too much’...”

She continued to talk about Eddie, how he could love someone, how much easier he was than Cal to deal with, ultimately, that Eddie loved in ways Cal could not. Part of him resented her for that, and part of him was grateful she noticed.

The resentment won out, in the end, and Cal found himself inside a tiny, trashy trailer in New Hampshire where the tornado had hit, where Mary was from. Her father lived there, horrible and unwelcoming, and just as disgusting as Cal imagined. And Cal could imagine quite a bit.

“I want you to get on your knees,” he began to say, watching the man Mary called ‘daddy’ stare at him blankly, “And I want you to _beg_ your daughter’s forgiveness.”

The man got to his feet, as if to challenge Cal, taller than him, but Cal’s pours reeked of masculinity, he didn’t let anyone step on him, despite his size, despite how he may seem, he was a ruthless force to be reckoned with when all the stops were pulled. A hurricane at sea, ripping at the shores.

“You will beg. You will grovel at her feet… for what you’ve done to this _innocent_ soul.” Cal voice but a tone above a whisper, quiet and threatening, never raising his voice, until the man stepped up and _spit_ on him.

A temper was something they were taught to keep in check, but a man could only do so much checking without a little releasing. Cal threw, hurling himself on the man, toppling him to the bench in the tiny little trailer, and punched him. Not just once, but over and over. A strong right hook, body punches to the ribs, head smashed into the microwave, over and over, denting the structure of it, until the man called ‘daddy’ fell to the ground, and Cal kicked his ribs in, over and over…

***

Cal realized there must be something ultimately wrong with him when he actually pushed Mary off of him, her mouth around his cock. He told her love someone else, that they’d be beautiful together, but it could not be him. Her hero worship of him was misplaced, and her love would only grow sour because of it.

Besides, Cal wasn’t made for love, even Sarah said so.

***

The risk to take the Movement to television was risky, but it was one that Cal had to hope Steve would agree with, had he been able to agree at all. Cal was on his own in the choices, the decisions, even if he told no one. Sarah had not agreed,  but it had not been solely up to Sarah, and in the end, he made his television debut, and even charmed the woman doing the interview into possibly signing up.

That’s how Cal worked; charm and facts.

It wasn’t that the word was getting out, or that they were told how great it was what they were doing for the those who suffered from the tornado, it was that Sarah was actually proud. Cal’s heart had swelled with it on his way back to Steve, remembering the way she looked, the way she spoke to him. If he got her to believe in him, all over again, surely there were others he’d touched, reaching out through the television, and grasping hold of them.

He’d find out, soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) again not beta'd, sorry, deal, you know the drill  
> 2) Here's a bit of background from Hannibal's point of view. Still confused? It'll explain itself as we go.  
> 3) comment and kudos let us know you love it, or hate it, or whatever. Feedback is grand!

_ “Maybe that’s just fine.” _

He’d felt him go. Far from the shattering of a tea-cup it was smooth almost peaceful. The hard face of the Atlantic had smashed all sense from them as they struggled until they simply couldn’t struggle anymore. Numb from cold it was either sink or float. Not matter the cannibal’s urging, he’d felt him, felt his hand as it opened. He’d felt him go…simply, slipped away; the current’s icy-fingers curling around them in a death-grip that not even the great il Mostro could defy – his frozen limbs no better than the butchered corpse left behind on the bluff above.

_ “Maybe I can’t save myself.” _

The roll and rip of the tide had devastated any hold they had on each other. They had planned to survive this. The fall wouldn’t –  _ shouldn’t _ have broken them. But Will Graham had his own plan, apparently or perhaps, none at all.

_ “Stay with me.” _

_ “Where else would I go?” _

Time seemed meaningless in either direction, equations lost to the ether as their stars blinked in and out overhead. Hannibal could only watch, bobbing in the waves, his pale face fading into the depths below, like footsteps into silence. He turned his wrath to the stars above – how dare  _ that _ view of them stay the same.

_ “Did you think you could change me?” _

The years didn’t make grief easier rather, Hannibal simply found a place for Will within the confines of his memory palace. But where the church candles had once been lit, warming the macabre and jaunty skeleton at the center, the chapel was now left in dark. Anything remotely hallowed was now surrounded by a maze of hallways that echoed with watery ghosts of all the places he couldn’t go anymore. Possibilities of a life together, like the eternal flame, snuffed out in a single moment of…letting go.

Thoughts of death were no longer comforting nor freeing.

Books of half finished equations were left alone, piled high in his office. It was the first time in years Hannibal had even glanced at them. But as he stared at the newspaper he couldn’t help but wonder…  _ No _ .

He folded the paper once and tossed it into the flames. He knew grief played wicked games with the mind and if indulged could lead to insanity. And he had enough of that in his daily work than to bring it home.

But the God’s knew well enough that hope was mankind’s greatest poison..and temptation.

Cal Roberts. Will’s doppelganger. That’s all. Will Graham would never enter a  _ cult.  _ Will Graham would die before giving his mind over that way.

Will Graham  _ did _ die. That was that.

He pushed up from his chair, refusing to dally with such fantasies any longer. Tea-cups, equations, stars be damned.  Just as Will had stumbled down the hall of his beginnings he had also drowned in the very tunnel of his endings.

Will Graham was dead.

Hannibal Lecter was dead.

Professor Marcus Leth carried on. That was that.

Over the coming weeks and months media hype around Meyerism continued. Articles were no longer burned. Rather, Hannibal started a new series of notebooks dedicated to this  _ Cal Roberts. _ The cannibal’s curiosity was most certainly peaked. But it wasn’t until he heard his voice – that hint of a drawl on the curl of his words when his tone was raised in earnest that he was convinced that he had to  _ see _ this man and his path for himself.

Preparations were made to ensure his identity was well hidden. Every taste was inverted. Being unshaven itched at first, as did the longer hair. Oversized clothes felt strange and disorienting. The faint smell of dirt and pungent aftershave almost broke his resolve, as did doing away with all the finery in his kitchen and his particular set of dietary habits. Developing a taste for cheap beer was going to take time, but time was all Hannibal had, for now.

Getting back in the country was tricky but not impossible. The Canadian’s were ever hospitable that way. In the coming weeks he hitchhiked his way down to the lush forests of upstate New York and found himself a new identity, yet again. He rented a bungalow out of the way, just a few miles up from the Meyerism community. Every morning the stags and deer would greet him on his lawn as he attempted to pallet what was sold as  _ coffee _ around these parts.

Hannibal now had the chance to study in detail the divisive effect this  _ movement _ had on the community and the power it wielded. The surrounding communities were afraid, angry, curious and ultimately dismissive. He often watched the devotees at a distance, he observed the way they preyed on the vulnerable and took them in – never to be seen again. In many respects the ideas delighted the cannibal but overall he considered their approach base, inauthentic and without a trace of elegance to their violence. Oh there was violence, the cannibal could smell it.

But he was yet to see Cal Roberts. From what he could gather the young man was away on some vain spiritual quest. This was most definitely  _ not _ Will Graham. So why was he staying? It certainly wasn’t for the coffee.

Hope. Horrid, terrible, wonderful hope.

As he sat and listened to reruns of Cal’s interviews and studied his words and image the first of many candle’s to come were re-lit in the chapel, seducing him with a creeping warmth that Hannibal could not let go of. Cal Roberts even  _ appeared _ younger. Everything hinted at time reversing.

When Jack Crawford made his first appearance in the community, Hannibal was  _ sure  _ of it.

With Jack came the curious, another branch of FBI, local authorities who wanted to believe in the best of this place, and those who simply wanted to shut the cult down. Jack’s presence was one of two things, but this had never been his division.

The curious left, for now, leaving Jack seemingly out of place, until Cal appeared. His car was never seen entering, a back way in perhaps, but he walked up to Jack Crawford with an outstretched hand, an easy smile that suggested familiarity.

Words were had, nothing so secret that they walked into a building for closure, open in their conversation, which ended ten minutes later, Cal placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing, and then letting go.

Cal had managed with Jack with an easy confidence, almost a friendliness, that Hannibal would never have associated with Will. Will had always had a strained relationship at best with Jack. Hannibal simply saw the bulkhead of a man as a soon-to-be meal but not before he found out what he was doing here with Cal, Will’s double who may not be a double at all.

Hannibal set his coffee cup down as he watched from a distance, binoculars held steady in one hand - a task that was far more difficult than it should be as the cannibal verged on shaking. It was unnerving to the point of painful how  _ closely _ Cal Roberts resembled Will Graham. His hair was shorter and his demeanor was far more gregarious - the young man seemed to smile more Will Graham ever did in his lifetime - but even at this distance Hannibal could see the dark thing scratching under his skin, itching to breakout. He also saw the ocean of loneliness that ebbed in those sea-blue eyes. A loneliness that could almost match his own.

As Jack’s cruiser sped by and Cal disappeared back through the gates of the compound Hannibal sat tracing the sharp curve of his lips with his finger, plotting, planning. Dangerous games were brewing in his mind. “Hello, Will.” he murmured to himself as he revved the engine of his clapped out car and drove back to town.

It was nearing dusk as Hannibal approached ‘home’. He unloaded a few small bags of groceries and a neatly wrapped bag full of stationary. This one night he allowed himself the indulgence of a fine bottle of wine to go with his meal, a celebration of sorts.

To new beginnings.

Unwrapping the stationary he pulled out watermarked paper with a bold but elegant header: Mark Lander, Author and Biographer. With the warm and spicey taste of wine lingering on his tongue and heating his veins, Hannibal set to work typing up an irresistible invitation for  _ any _ cult leader. Even at a distance it wasn’t hard to see that  _ Cal _ was someone whose ego was in constant need of petting - as would anyone struggling to keep hold of and, believe in, a false identity. While Hannibal could not be sure that he would be recognized on first meeting he would know Will by scent alone. Even now, as he walked those dark hallways he could conjure a near perfect replica of Will’s scent. There was always the concern that Will  _ would  _ recognize him and reject him all over again, forcing the cannibal’s hand once again to make an attempt on the younger man’s life. But Hannibal doubted it, even if Will Graham was forced into witness protection to avoid the cannibal’s grasp he would have rallied against anything that even remotely resembled a cult. No, this was either a disturbing case of nature replicating or, Cal had no idea who he  _ really _ was at all. Hannibal could work both of those to his advantage.

He pulled himself up short as he went to sign the letter - careful not to use any hint of a cursive script. Once satisfied with the end product he sat back in the chair and stared at the words a long while, steepled fingers holding up his angular chin as he mulled over the whole situation; the fall, the years between, Cal - that  _ drawl _ , Jack and now, Hannibal was about to happen. His train of thought was interrupted by the bellow of stags outside. It was late and mist was creeping in off the lawn and fogging the windows where the heat from the fire met the glass. Hannibal sealed the letter and went to bed, sleep coming easier than it had done in years.  


	3. Chapter 3

On receiving the letter, Cal gazed over it and the articulation behind it, obviously from a very well educated man. An author who was very much interested in writing a book on Cal and the movement, or so it seemed. Genuinely curious, Cal flipped the letter over where the letterhead listed a phone number. He thought over the notion to call, knowing he ought to at least talk to Steve first, but who knew if this author would still be around in a few weeks when Cal would return to the Founder.

Decidedly, Cal pulled out his cellphone, and dialed the number, unaware of the breath he held as he waited, the other line ringing.

Hannibal let the phone ring a moment longer than he needed to, long fingers drumming along the desk. Only one person had this number and better to make the prey wait, waiting hinted at  _ importance. _

“Hello?” Hannibal made no attempt at hiding his accent, it would be a futile attempt in any case. The warm, licking tones of his European accent reached out across the wires seeking for a connection if not known at least felt.

“Mister Lander, isn’t it?” Cal asked, leaning back in his chair at his desk, ankles crossed, staring a the letter as the other man answered, trying to get a feel for who he might be. His accent was clear enough, European of some kind, not native to America then. “You sent me a letter. Cal Roberts.”

“Indeed I did.  _ The _ Cal Roberts. Your reputation precedes you. All the way to Germany, in fact. Where I, and my publisher, are from.” With each syllable Hannibal lays the thickness and weight of his accent on - heavy like an embrace.

“Germany,” Cal considered, letting the thought that their movement was making waves across the Atlantic now, reaching people far and wide, not just those in the nation, but the  _ world _ \-- because of all the good  _ he’d _ done.

“That’s wonderful to hear. How can I help you, Mister Lander?”

“Wonderful.” The cannibal murmured before continuing. “I do think the question is more how can we or, I, help you. There is growing interest in your movement, enough that it has caught both my and my publisher’s attention. With your permission, I have a starting commission to start a book on Meyerism but in particular  _ your _ journey. If, that is, that kind of thing that interests a man such as yourself.” Hannibal was earnest in words but a smirk teased across his lips, he could almost hear the man’s ego swelling down the line.

“ _ My _ journey?” Cal licked the top of his lip, nearly biting the tip of his tongue off with the notion that someone wasn’t just interested in the movement, but in  _ Cal _ . Not Steve, not the man who envisioned it, but the man who would take the whole thing over and make it  _ something better _ .

“Yes. I am deeply interested in what will be the evolution, the next  _ becoming  _ of your movement. Such momentum always has one, great leader behind it. And from what I can tell, that would be... _ you. _ ” Hannibal let that hang before casting it away, “But I fully understand if that is not your approach to things here…” Easy come, easy go. Hannibal let the bait sit.

Licking his teeth, Cal was quiet, deliberating with himself as he gazed out the large glass windows of his office, watching all the new followers who had been brought in from the tornado, and how so many of them stayed because Cal had made the notion to save them, to feed them, to house them…

“We should talk in person.”

“Wonderful, and on me, if you can suggest somewhere decent to eat in these parts.” Hannibal leaned back in his chair, watching the sky darken and the stars blink into view again.

Quiet for a moment, Cal tried to think of a versatile spot, one that purely vegetarian, but would suit any palate. “There’s a small american bistro on 5th. I think it’s fine enough.” For Cal, he didn’t find food enjoyable the way some did.

The cannibal inhaled sharply, a frown creasing his brow. He knew that place well enough and wouldn’t dare consider crossing its threshold let alone dining there. He licked his lips and straightened his sweater. “Perfect. Midday, tomorrow?”

Cal could hear the hesitation, just a little; “Would you prefer something more private?” Not all saying the man had standards, he wouldn’t assume. “The compound is known our cultivated fresh gardens…”

Hannibal weighed up the options. Dining at the compound would give him greater insight into this new world of  _ Cal’s. “ _ How terribly generous of you to open up your home like that. If it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience and, as long as there is privacy. The book deal and contract demands a certain level of exclusivity until the international launch that is…” Hannibal stroked long fingers over the curve of his lip, reeling the young man in.

The secrecy of the book would be hard to convey at the compound, but it would also ensure that details never left there either, except in the hands of what he would hope to be a very detailed and prolific author. Of course, all that remained to be seen, and Cal would keep things very close to his chest. After all, Mister Lander was not part of the movement, he had to be careful of slander. Cal had heard enough about about author the likes of Freddie Lounds, the last thing he needed was someone like her snooping around and writing frivolous and unjust things about their community.

“I’ll make arrangements for a meal. Same time?”

“It will be an honor. Thank you Mister Roberts. But I must ask one thing?”

Cal made a note on a yellow sticky pad about the time, and a meal to made, pausing briefly when the other man spoke just before he was going to hang up. “And what is that, Mister Lander?”

“Please call me Mark. I'd like to think we can be friends.” Hannibal ensured his tone was benevolent and polite before ending the call.

_ Friends _ . Cal’s heart started to beat hard against his ribs. The word wasn’t so unknown, he had a few friends, people he was close to, but the way Mark Lander said the word set off an explosion of feelings that made his chest tighten in pure panic. The question was, why? Taking deep breaths, Cal closed his eyes and tried to wipe his mind of everything,  meditate on it, have a clear conscience…

Once calm, Cal put the order in to the local chef for something simple and homecooked for tomorrow, and went about the rest of his day. The jitters did not leave him, they followed him like a ghost, walking in his shadows where the sun beat down, and again when the moon lit up the paths of the compound. No matter where Cal went, he felt as though something were creeping up on him, and there was no one to turn to, not without having to explain  _ why _ .

He unburden himself to God and to God alone.

***

Where Hannibal had slept peacefully upon sending the letter, actually speaking to  _ Cal  _ and hearing that slight curtness and drawl had left his mind unsettled and his dreams downright disturbed. In the end it was easier not to indulge sleep rather get up and focus on his  _ work. _

He recounted his impressive but entirely false credentials in his head along with a concise list of  _ prompting  _ question as he drove. The compound was less than ten minutes drive but rather than announce his arrival Hannibal parked just out of the way. He strolled in with such casual assurance none of the weaker-willed followers questioned him.

_ Will.  _ He didn't need to lay eyes on him to be sure of it. The thick scent of his earthy sweat as he worked travelled across the compound and beckoned the cannibal with deliciously teasing notes upon the clear mountain air.

He straightened the strap of his satchel and slipped his hands inside his jeans as he strolled closer, keeping a tight and mindful fist around the exploding ache in his chest. He paced his breathing and his heart rate as he called out only loud enough for the young man’s ears, “Will.”

Something like electric sparks ignited through Cal, his veins on fire, chest throbbing for a mere second, sea blue eyes gazing around the compound, as if searching for something he couldn’t see, nor understand.

_ Will _ .

Who was that, exactly?

Cal turned, seeing the scruffy, graying man approach, he offered a smile and his hand.

“You must be Mister Lander-- sorry, Mark?”

Hannibal took a sharp breath as sea-blue eyes turned on him without a hint of recognition. But he was sure not to miss a beat, he had prepared himself for the long game if necessary.

He took  _ Cal’s  _ rough hand in his, smooth and assured in touch - just as an  _ author _ should be, and shook it firmly with a polite nod, “Mister Roberts.” He placed his other hand over the top of earth-stained wrist and settled his amber gaze on his.

The questioned still burned in his eyes  _ Why did you let go? _

“Please, call me Cal, since we’re on a first name basis now.” Cal gave Mark a questioning look, tongue poised just behind his teeth, as though to ask a question, but the it didn’t present itself in the least, merely stuck behind a mind suddenly full of clutter.

Cal really needed some time alone.

Duty calls, however.

“Cal it is.” Hannibal drew out the roll of his tongue extending the ‘L’ with a seductive curl, just as he had always done.

Oh, there were questions in his boy’s eyes. And pain. Possibly from the strain of over politeness - by Will’s standards anyway.

Cal squeezed Mark’s hand and gently pried his fingers from him, touching his arm to the other man’s shoulder in a friendly, non-offensive manner.  Gesturing toward the compound, Cal led Mark through many buildings and houses, garden and recreation areas. They stopped just outside of Cal’s office, where he unlocked it, leading into a small private living arrangement, meant for a man who did not live here often, but stayed here when did.

“Please,” Cal said, another gesture toward the small unit, a tiny two person table set with an array of fresh fruit and crisp salad, nothing fancy.

“Thank you,” Hannibal took his seat, far more focused on the agonizingly familiar scent of the room than what lay on the table. But far be it from Hannibal to go without comment, “Organic? You look like you have _your_ _family_ here entirely self sufficient.” He was keen to see how those words weighed on _Cal._

Scooping up some of the salad and fruit, he served Mark first, politely, and then himself, but sat very still a moment, thinking over the words presented to him, each one a clear meaning, as though the man were trying to get reactions for his book.

“It is. We grow everything we need here, that we  _ can _ grow. It helps build our connection to God. Some find it meditative, to Garden.” A double meaning, where their beliefs came into play in the spiritual and physical worlds.

Hannibal sat back and crossed one long leg over the other and nodded thanks as he was served. He noted how so much about Will had changed but his need for escape from his own mind was still core to his daily functioning. Then there was _gardening -_ to _cultivate, change_ and see something _become._ Meditative.

“When what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. When your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love. Mediation could be seen as almost, essential to survival of the self what, with the weight of all this on one’s shoulders.” Hannibal smiled politely as he looked around the compound outside the window and took a small bite of what could only be described as bland but crunchy.

Cal blanched a little, swallowing down a hard lump in his throat, he cleared it with a glass of water set out, and then rolled his lips together as he looked at Mark, hands clasped together as he leaned against the table on his elbows.

“Are you a writer or a therapist, Mister-- uh, Mark?” Something was not settling right, something clearly uncomfortable, that made his skin crawl with undue familiarity, and yet it beat down on his memories like a long lost lover, but one he had no clear intention of ever having.

Hannibal chuckled, his eyes crinkling and lifting  _ just so _ at the corner as he took another bite, sculpted lips closing slowly around the silver fork and delicately sucked it clean.

“I am sorry, Cal. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.” He looked skyward as if to indicate a higher connection, whether he believed in such things was not up for debate here. “Does being seen make you uncomfortable? The world stage is a rather large audience.” Bait after lure after bait, he reached for his notepad and pen.

“Not at all. It’s how we are seen, not that we are. I present myself as a leader of this sect, that is how people will see me, and it either garners respect, or…” he gestured with a cant of his head, “it doesn’t.”

Cal preferred that it did, but not everyone had respect, and sometimes he had to demand it and force hands to get it. Faith came easily to those who had no other option but to believe in something grander than themselves.

“And what of the man, Cal Roberts, behind what he presents, would it make  _ you _ uncomfortable for me to see you that way?” Hannibal took another bite and set his utensils down, folding his hands in his lap as he took in Will’s new, more angular and robust look. “For the book, of course.” He eventually added.

Cal had not even touched his meal, having not said the prayer yet, simply too busy staring at the man opposite of him to even begin the ritual. His hands pressed tight to his khaki clad thighs, jaw shifting uncomfortably with a narrow twitch of his eyes.

“What exactly is it that you think you see?”

Hannibal was distracted by the intensity of the eye-contact being made here, even in those final days it was a rare gift and most often presented when the brunet was feeling particularly defensive or manipulative, and Hannibal has a great love of both. “I suspect it is more a question of what you see.” Hannibal tilted his head with a gentle roll of his jaw. “Pure empathy.”

This was a conversation that was quickly leading to a serious case of deja vu. Cal’s gaze never left Mark’s, though uncomfortable as it were, even though he often made this sort of contact with   _ everyone _ he’d come across, there was an intensity about Mark that left his skin crawling -- and not in an entirely unwanted way.

Which only made it worse. Of  _ course _ he would be attracted to the creepy ones.

“Empathy is a resourceful and honed skill I’ve taught myself to tap into. It’s extremely useful in my work. So many people feel they suffer alone, and they don’t have to, or ever again.”

It was clear Will had no idea who he was. Hannibal stood, slowly and moved to look out of the window, granting the boy the space he so desperately needed but had no idea to take. He smoothed back his hair so it appeared neater and far better groomed before adjusting his shirt, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Tell me, Cal, even with what your family out there, do you suffer alone?” Hannibal looked over his shoulder only briefly with a warm smile, “Indulge an author’s curiosity. Without a pen in hand, I am recording nothing of what we say, yet.” Hannibal didn’t need to, their every interaction from Baltimore to this very moment were burned into the foundations of his memory palace, he was unable to erase them even if he wanted to which, he never would.

Jaw shifting, Cal bit back the response to say that they were not  _ his _ family, but his  _ people _ . They were a family as a whole, but never a family in means of bond or blood.

“I do not suffer. I speak-- _ unburden  _ myself-- with the founder, Steve Meyer, often.”

Hannibal was a master of the alchemy of truth and lies. And whilst there were lies upon lies here, this, for whatever reason was  _ Cal’s  _ most painful.

He turned with genuine feeling, “I am glad that conversations with a friend, apologies, founder, ease your suffering of mind so.” Hannibal knew when to push and when to retreat.

“This is quite a responsibility to be burdened with. One would need a way to get out of dark places.” Hannibal moved over towards the wooden carving - an all seeing eye. Gaudy at best. He focused his attention on it allowing  _ Cal _ to move to him, or not.

Lunch long forgotten, Cal got to his feet, head canted just  _ so _ as he approached Mark slowly, hands in fist at his side, defensive at best, shoulders rolled back, presenting his space on  _ his _ turf.

“I have The Light and The Truth. I need nothing else.”

Hannibal turned, perfectly at ease and in no way deterred by  _ Cal’s _ show of dominance. “You do not need. And yet you seem to have been laboured with quite a bit.” Hannibal nodded towards the eye and back towards _ Cal _ . “You see, it is much easier to tell the story of a man and his journey than that of an idea. The idea arrives on the tide of the man.” Hannibal offered softly, his motives  _ sounding _ positively professional whilst remaining entirely personal.

“Is that why you want to write a book on  _ my _ personal journey, and not the movement itself?” Cal asked, catching on to  Mark’s motives quickly, or what seemed to be motives. Cal hadn’t quite placed what the author was after, honestly, but it wasn’t all  _ work. _

Hannibal glanced once at the eye and back to Cal, stepping that bit closer. “I hold no bias, I don’t hide from God. But it is true,  _ more _ people are carried along by the story of a man than just the steps of an idea. People understand the world in terms of stories, they construct fairytales and accept them.” Hannibal’s gaze softened ever so slightly, his hands moving to hang loose by his side as his head dipped, “And you are thoroughly unique. An author can not capture and do justice to a subject they are not in someway enthralled by.” His broad shoulders shrugged under the bulky jacket as if to punctuate the sentence with a basic fact that had always been and always would.

“These aren’t fairytales, these are ways of life, these are  _ factual _ ,” Cal said, not wanting his story to be based on what might seem like lies, as everything was perfectly  _ real _ .

Staring at Mark for a long time, he blinked slowly, those doe eyes, large and bright, blue as a stormy sea. “Enthralled? This is quickly becoming inappropriate, Mister Lander.”

Cal backed up, eyes never leaving Mark, clouds moving outside the window blocking the sun, shadows moving over Mark’s perfect features, creating an illusion of a beast Cal had only ever seen in the nightmares that haunted him. His breath caught rapidly in his throat, another step back, and then another, panic raising with his pulse.

Hannibal saw his opportunity to hit his mark.

“Inappropriate was never my intention nor do I seek to challenge anyone’s beliefs, just, understand -  _ see. _ ” Hannibal picked up his notepad and pen and put them neatly away in his satchel, tugging it over his shoulder.

“I will see myself out.” As he walked towards the door, sure strides and eyes ahead he paused only briefly as he opened the door, light streaming in around him, “I want you to know exactly where I am, and where you can always find me.” He nodded to the table where had left his address and phone number.

With that, Hannibal was gone.  _ Abandoning _ Will entirely in the moment all the while inserting himself back in his world  _ completely _ .


	4. Chapter 4

Cal locked himself in his office for three days before he was seen again, and in that passing, it was merely to get to his car, pack up his things, and leave. Sarah attempted to speak to him, and Cal simply brushed her off, putting on that charming little smile, touching her shoulder the way he always had, to show connection, even if right now, he felt no connection to anyone. He was utterly alone.

“Are you going back to Steve?” She asked, looking for answers, _fishing_ for them.

“Yes,” he admitted, as Steve Meyers was the only place Cal thought he go right now, be listened to, even if he wasn’t sure Steve could really hear him. But he needed someone, he needed _something_ to ground him.

Mark Lander’s card was in his left breast pocket, all but burning a hole right through it, laying over the freakishly fast beating of his heart, which had not slowed in the three days he holed himself up.

“Everyone is worried about you,” Sarah whispered and shouldered him in the side, hoping, it seemed, that maybe it was just Cal being Cal, another one of his spiritual missions he put himself through just to come out better for it.

If only that had been the case.

“No need to worry about me. Worry means there’s something wrong, and there is nothing wrong, Sarah.” He petted her neck with one hand, and tossed the last bit of things into the trunk of his Prius, and slammed it shut.

“Cal…”

“Worry about your marriage, Sarah. That’s important.”

He gave her one last look and got into the car. Where he was going, he hadn’t really given it much thought. It _was_ going to be to  Steve, but as he drove, his mind only came to pause on one person, and he hated that it was the one person who caused his anxiety and panic to start with.

Mark Lander.

Minutes that seemed like hours went by as he stared at the address on the card, finding himself in his car outside of the place listed, staring blankly at windows, the door, as if hoping the man might come out, and yet fearing he might at the same time.

Hannibal was there, waiting, never doubting that _Cal_ would arrive. He had spent his days revising equations and making preparations - Jack had more than earned himself a dinner invitation.

He swung the door open with a tender smile and made his way down to the car with loping steps, brushing his hands off what he had just finished with in the kitchen. “Cal. I wasn’t expecting you.” He leaned the bed of his palm against the car roof and bent at the hips, just enough to peer down at the startled man who really, at this point, looked more like a boy. Such a move also offered the younger man a clear view of his hairy and brawny chest underneath his unbuttoned, navy shirt.

Gazing up, exhausted blue eyes dragging across Mark’s exposed chest, up to his eyes, Cal searched the other man’s amber irises, not saying a word for a long moment, but really studying him until he saw nothing of the beast he had the other day. Just Mark, the author, a man. Cal had been silly, he was seeing that now.

Ridiculous.

“I wanted to apologize. I was rude,” he huffed a breath, light laughter at his own expense, and shook his head. He pushed the car door open as Mark stepped back, and rose to his full height. “You were asking questions we agreed on. I was triggered, I should have warned you. My family has been a sore subject. We’re taught to find peace in the Light, but every now and then peace doesn’t hold.”

“I won’t hear of it.” Hannibal pressed a warm palm to the small of his back, a light touch of fingertips to his forearm as he coaxed him inside. “I pressed too, much too soon. Why don’t we discuss what you're comfortable with over coffee.”

He paused at the bottom step of his bungalow, considering Will a moment, the pain of conflict in the brunet's eyes. “I have read a great many books, travelled a great many cities and studied a great many religions and from what I understand, one cannot have true faith without withstanding the pain of true doubt.” He resisted the urge to lift a comforting hand to his tensed jaw.

“Having doubts is natural. It’s what you do with your doubts and how you overcome them that matters,” Cal explained, follow Mark up to his bungalow, pausing only when he did, and moving again only when he took the next step up. He kept pace, equals.

Hannibal guided Will inside, closing the door behind them. “Tell me, Cal, what do you do with your doubts?”

Hannibal released his hold at that point and made his way to the kitchen, “Black, one sugar?”

“Just black,” Cal said, having  sustained from refined sugars a long time ago. Hands in his pockets, Cal looked around the cozy kitchen, and it seemed less like a place Mark might be seen, and more like a spot he shrouded himself in, convenience.

“I meditate on them. I pray. And then let them go. They aren’t much use to me up here,” he tapped his head. “I usually like to make a point of confronting them, it’s the only way to see a resolution.”

That’s why he was here, after all.

Hannibal listened as Will talked - such strange words from such a familiar mouth. He kept his back to Cal as he talked, his broad shoulders turning and flexing, straining under the fabric of the shirt that accentuated his tapered waist. With two cups in hand he turned back and offered one to Will.

“And now you have confronted me, do you feel a sense of resolution, Cal?” Hannibal canted his head as he gestured for the brunet to take a seat across from him. Whilst the living was small and sparse the open windows with forested view and roaring fire offered a sense of _home._

Cal kept standing, at least for now, as he walked to the windows, coffee in hand, and watched the trees be windswept; he imagined it snowed here a little, that a blanket of white filled the grounds, and dogs pounced around in it, playfully. Brows knit, Cal turned back to Mark, slowly, head before set, pulled back shoulders.

“Not yet.”

Hannibal had eased himself back into the chair, elegant fingers wrapped around the cup that remained largely untouched as his gaze followed Will. “Do you ever feel a complete sense of resolution, Cal? Or, do you feel the nightmares follow you out of your dreams more often than you’d care to admit.” He nodded once to the pen and paper that were far from where he was sitting, this conversation was equally far from being on record.

Cal felt no reason to open up to Mark, business acquaintances at best, did not deserve this sort of person touch, on either end. Cal sipped the coffee, more of tea drinker himself, but wouldn’t be rude.

“I don’t have nightmares. Visions sometimes, but nightmares, no.” He shook his head once, walls building higher and higher in his mind, pieces he had cracked down a while ago to let in the Light, to be enlightened.

It felt like Mark was chipping away at more than just the foundations of his mind, but he couldn’t quite place it.

The programming, the brainwashing was deep. A professional job. He toyed with the idea of employing the use of psychotropic drugs to reverse whatever effects were done here but he suspected Will would come apart, and back together, by feeling alone.

“Visions.” He rubbed across his lip and down his jaw considering. “The word implies they come from some other place and some other time - perhaps. A place across far distance oceans. No need to inherit them as your own. Do you believe these visions are from another place or, do they feel them to be a part of you, Cal?”

“Visions are paths to Enlightenment. Often misconstrued as something else, if not properly _seen_.” Cal took another large swallow of the coffee, letting it burn down his throat, pooling like acid on his now soured stomach. He didn’t expect Mark to understand the movement or their ways, but he did expect respect in what they believed, just as Cal would respect Mark’s, however negative it might seem to be, especially at this point.

“My visions set my path, further up the Ladder.”

Hannibal set his cup down and rose slowly and moved towards to Cal. “It sounds very learned. Years and years of building foundations.” As he moved closer his steps became measured and paced - heel to toe in absolute silence. “What do you _see_?”  What could sound like an innocent question about the movement and it’s aforementioned ladder the warm, coaxing tone hinted at a kind of provocation that refused to be pinned down.

Hannibal stayed only _just_ out of Cal’s personal space as he looked down at the younger man but closing the distance in such a manner hinted at intimacy.

“They are… _personal_ ,” Cal said with precise punctuation on the last word, a warning and a hint at in the same moment, even if he hardly realized the latter. He took a deep breath and coddled the mug of coffee with both hands, blue eyes set like stone on Mark.

The ghost of a sad smile washed over Hannibal’s features as he nodded once and reached just to the side of Cal and dragged the pad and pen that bit closer but didn’t pick them up, yet. Rather he let his hand settle there just as the _seemingly_ open glow of his amber gaze settled on Will. “I will stop being personal, if you ask me to.” His fingers tapping on the notebook where it lay.

There was a certain power that came with the illusion of choice, a power that Hannibal doubted Will ever truly felt he had as he was forced into this new life and new identity. Every action and word dictated by the need to hold on to something so entirely false and ill fitting.

Cal considered the option, eyes flitting to the notepad, really mulling it over. A  book about him, his personal views, his personal beliefs of the movement, _everything_ , written down and accounted for. It meant delving in deep to parts of his life he certainly _washed_ away years ago.

“For every personal tidbit I give you, I want you to come to the compound and listen to the people and their stories. One story for each one of mine.” Cal raised his brows, expectantly toward Mark.

As wonderful as a book was going to be about his place in the movement, Cal was nothing without the people he had guided and saved within it.

“I don’t deal in tidbits. I also did not pick you for someone who was willing to _share_.” Hannibal let that word worm it’s way through Will’s heart. “You think you can change me.” His brow arched just enough to hint at a question cutting both ways.

Setting his mug down on the table by the pad, Cal stepped closer to Mark, up to his full height, much taller than Will had ever seemed. His stormy blue eyes watched Mark’s amber ones with a deep knowing.

“I have changed and enlightened even the thickest of skins. I think the question is, Mister Mark Lander, do _you_ want to be _changed_?” Cal’s voice dropped octaves, a quiet hush that was chilling and vastly scarier than a man of his stature should carry.

Hannibal’s skin crawled with a disgusting kind of delight as Will’s inner darkness showed itself. Wearing a different mask, of course, but no less appealing. Where the cannibal’s smile had been warm and welcoming and his eyes soft, a single slow teasing blink saw his gaze harden and his smile grow into something sharp and truly horrifying - the beast shedding it’s skin with disturbing ease.

Reaching up he brushed a hand just over the line of Will’s cheek bone - welcoming that darkness home. “Changed? Oh yes, Cal. In every. Conceivable. Way. But no more than how I wish to change you.”

The buzz of familiarity shot hot through Cal’s veins as Mark touched him, his breath shaky as he huffed out a snarling little chuckle. Their position was intimate, known, like long lost pieces of one person that had come back together, found their way _home_. It wasn’t something Cal could explain, but it did nothing to ease the tension and fear that resided in him just then, coiled hard in his belly.

“Change _me_?” The question was reversed now, though Cal realized there were no answers.

Hannibal only just resisted opening his mouth to snap at the sound of that huffed chuckle. But noting how Will did not retreat, Hannibal’s hand dropped to his belly and traced over the hidden smiling scar there. “I already have.” Where his hand stopped tracing it gripped his narrow hip in a tight but not threatening hold.

“Terrible thing to have your identity _taken_ from you. It can feel like drowning only to wake up _alone._ ”

Scars Cal had faded over time, some enough to not be noticed. The one across his belly was from the accident Jack had saved him from just off the shore of the Atlantic, where he’d had some memory issues. It was years back though, he hadn’t really _thought_ about it until now.

Cal took a step back, out of Mark’s reach, his jaw tense and strong, not letting his guard down, no matter how _drawn_ to the other man he had become.

“I know who I am.”

“I suppose you do.” Hannibal reached for his pad and pen, gazing up at Will as he did, “You drove all this way to tell me who you _are_ , and who you are... _not_.” He turned away, leaving an absence of touch, an absence of closeness and removed the weight of his gaze as he returned to sitting, legs crossed as he balanced his pad on the arm of his chair, head cocked, expectant but gaze still off to the left, averted.

Cal grabbed the mug from the table and set it down in the sink, turning back to Mark a smile forced across his features.

“Thank you for the time. I don’t believe this working relationship is going to work out. If you change your mind though, and want to take me up on my offer, you know where to find _me_.” Cal walked passed Mark, letting his hand linger, clasp, and then let go, before showing himself out.

Just before the door closes, Hannibal speaks only _just_ loud enough for the younger man to hear, “Goodbye, Will.”

Hannibal would not follow nor take Cal up on his offer. He had wound him up, now he would simply watch him go.


	5. Chapter 5

Cal had not questioned his faith in a long time. He had no reason to, there had never been doubts of what he believed. Meeting Mark Lander, however, was bringing up more questions that he just had no answers for, and talking to a man in a comatose condition only got him so far. Unburdening himself to someone other than Steve was out of the question, though he was sure Sarah would understand, he felt little ease in putting more strain on her than he thought she could easily carry right now. 

Instead of questioning his faith, Cal took sometime to be alone, again, to bring himself back around, to pull himself together. In the end, he was convinced this was a test, a higher level of enlightenment from God himself. It was time to move up the Ladder, and take this next step, and perhaps that step involved Mark Lander, more than Cal wanted to admit. Cal had never felt  _ less _ alone than when he was with Mark, and though he had not seen the man for some weeks, there was a growing unease on having not heard from him. Another sign.

His return to the compound was welcomed, as it always had been, and always would be, he was sure of it. He checked in on a few individuals, and Sarah and Eddie, though not much seemed to have changed there, Eddie was just coming out of his fourteen days-- a stint Cal was curious to see the outcome of.

In fact, the sermon he had prepared was congruent not only to his own situation, but perhaps Sarah and Eddie’s as well.

A well written, elegantly put, invitation was sent to Mark Lander, using the address Cal had for him, inviting him to the sermon, sure that it might be one the man would find interesting. If not, then perhaps Cal would have run him off for good. A win-win situation one way or another.

*****

Hannibal was not unaccustomed to waiting. To be a predator was to both be a very patient and a very violent thing. He was aware that breaking down Will’s walls and stripping away this false identity was a delicate task if he wanted to ensure Will’s sanity remained intact. Amnesia was a serious insult to the mind and if there was one thing Hannibal was determined to preserve it was Will’s mind. It was clear that enough damage had been done already.

Hannibal was not only attempting to reverse time, he was attempting, in all  _ good  _ faith, to heal Will and restore him to who he truly was. Indeed, that was all he had ever done, no matter how dubious his methods Hannibal was only ever peeling the mundane to unveil the dark majesty beneath.

Hannibal was also accustomed to grief, in a way. He has at least found a place for it where he could keep moving forward.

But this, this was an entirely new kind of agony. Those sea-blue eyes staring back at him without even the faintest hint of recognition. It was as if they had both died and now their ghosts hung in the air unable to touch or connect in any way – trapped and tormented by circumstance. If there was a hell, if he was inclined to believe in such things, this was it.

Drowning in that scent and even having that familiar gruff darkness rear up and snap his jaws at him, whilst being entirely alone in the experience was nothing short of eviscerating. Every moment in Will’s presence was a brutal tension between relief and devastation. The fact he could keep breathing in Will’s presence honestly surprised the cannibal let alone manage the gentle manipulations he did.

It wasn’t until he was alone that he was  _ forced _ to let the grief wash through him – far worse than any shattering slap of the ocean at midnight. All he could do was lay still and hold on at certain moments.

After Will had left that day, the car spinning circles in the dirt and disappearing down the road, and even though he  _ knew _ he would see him again, Hannibal had nudged Will’s cup just enough to see it shatter on the floor – just to know something was still  _ moving _ , that in that moment Will had been  _ real _ . On that cup his DNA and scent would all be the same,  _ unchanged _ by the tide of oceans and Jack’s meddling. Just as DNA can’t be changed Hannibal had to hope souls were made of the same resilience.

The grief Hannibal struggled with was only equaled by the rage he felt towards Jack. The only reason that beast still breathed was because Hannibal had a cover to maintain and, he was quite sure, Will would want his own revenge when the time came.

Weeks passed and Hannibal would often spend his days waiting for night in order to stare up at those same stars, stars they shared that would always stay the same when everything else seemed so impossibly broken.

In time, the invite came. Clean and professional. Much like Hannibal knew Will would accept his invitation, Will would know, somewhere deep inside, that Hannibal would accept his. Hannibal had always found God and religion fascinating – the elegance and brutality of it. So the idea of seeing Will preach was as alluring as it was painful.

The night of the sermon came and Hannibal shaved clean, the sharp and handsome angles of his face revealed. He smoothed his hair back to enhance the effect. He also made sure to dress in one of his nicer shirts, all in an effort to gently prompt the past, the truth to the surface.

***

Their little meeting hall was set, and those who could come always did, many working or taking care of the young and old, but Cal always enjoyed seeing everyone who came, a large gathering always present for what he had to teach.

The night of the sermon came and Hannibal shaved clean, the sharp and handsome angles of his face revealed. He smoothed his hair back to enhance the effect. He also made sure to dress in one of his nicer shirts, all in an effort to gently prompt the past, the truth to the surface.

Hannibal looked around the hall, at the mundane and entirely helpless faces of the crowd there, and ached for Will.  As Will entered he merely nodded once and took a strategic seat – away from the front and prying eyes, veiled in the dark but angled just enough to catch the light of the projector as it reflected off the screen. Just enough for Will alone.

“There’s a story, and it’s been told many times through mythology and fairytales,” Cal started to say as the group wandered in, gathering, stragglers toward the back, be he never minded. “But this story goes back to when humans were first put on this earth. They had four arms and four legs. Two sets of genitals. Essentially, they had double conjoined bodies, but had one  _ soul. _ “

He let that linger, pacing the small stage, watching and gauging reactions.

“Now in many of these stories, these humans were a threat to the ‘Gods’,” he chuckled, laughter throughout the room rumbled, as that was not their belief, but they understood just as well. “So, they struck the human’s down and cut them in half, leaving us how we are today. Two arms, Two legs, one set of genitals. Continuously searching for… our other half.”

That drew a gasps from a few-- they understood now. This was not a story as presented in the Bible, but it was one that as growing creatures they could understand, as everyone was looking for the enlightened path, and so many found their other half in doing so.

“A constant search for that missing piece,” Cal went on to say, “and I like to think a few of you have them. I see you together,” he gestured to Eddie and Sarah, Mary and Sean, “and it’s beautiful, even through the struggles. To have that sense of peace and understanding, without having to say much at all. I… _ believe _ our journey is fulfilled easier when we have found that missing piece.”

As Hannibal listened to Will speak with such strange confidence and faith that even sounded uncomfortable on the younger man’s tongue, the cannibal’s blood-honey eyes grew wet with unshed tears. These ideas so very far from anything  _ his _ Will Graham would believe and yet, so utterly fitting for the predicament they were both in. A mere metaphor of course.

Hannibal had no doubt Will had chosen this sermon by chance but that meant little if he did not know why. And if he did, he was still explaining away their connection as an act of God than a memory reemerging - truth.

There was and always had been a low thrum that had lived under the skin of the cannibal. It tugged at and unsettled him with a need to be seen, accepted and understood. Perhaps even loved. It nagged at him incessantly and had only ever quieted when Will Graham was near.

Will Graham was near now, but the thrum only grew louder.

Somewhere in there Will was seeing him in his way. But the connection between that knowing and who he was now had been blinded by the hard knock of the ocean and Jack’s ongoing meddling.

And Hannibal knew too, that Will Graham would be suffering. There was so much  _ feeling _ in this room and so much  _ responsibility _ – lives to save. And the young man did not have a single island of peace. He was adrift on a sea of turbulent and needing souls without an anchor to ground him. Without, Hannibal.

Hannibal was here, reaching. But Will had no way to take his hand yet. No wonder he was turning to God.

But Hannibal knew better than anyone, God was hardly a benevolent being prone to handing out solace. 

Searching the crowd, Cal found Mark, again, his gaze soft on him, but no less intense, he continued on; “So, if in your journey for truth and light, you find that one, and it makes your journey easier and well rounded --  _ perfect _ \-- I say you reach for it and find enlightenment together, and eventually, The Garden.”

Hannibal was aware that he would need to use any opening to his advantage to prompt and stay near. As Will looked on him like that, he returned the soften gaze with an honest dampness in his gaze - although rather than tears of something joyous they were grief for what he was going to have to do here and rage welling at Jack. But he only nodded and offered a warm smile in return, for now.

The Garden was not their destination. Nor was perfection. Every creative act starts with an act of destruction.

They ended the sermon there, and Cal greated his people, one by one, a few hand shakes, and then made his way to Mark, a genuine smile on his face.

“So, you came anyway.”

“I will always accept your invitations, Cal.” A genuine statement.

“I was under the impression you did not actually want anything to do with our movement, let alone me,” Cal replied, hands clasped behind his back, as he moved them toward the exit, somewhere quieter.

Mirroring the smaller man’s body posture, “Nothing could be further from the truth.” If there was one thing more powerful than whatever lies impressed upon Will’s mind it would be the truth. And they both  _ knew _ how fascinated the cannibal was with Will from the very first moment.

Cal knew, he just liked to  _ hear _ it.

“Is that so?” Cal asked, as they walked, away from the community building, people bustling around them, and toward Cal’s personal office and house.

Hannibal followed Cal as he was guided back to his private quarters aware that this could be one of Jack’s traps in waiting. 

“Yes.” He spoke with a genuine affection but was scanning the perimeter, hypervigilant.

“You seem… worried.” Cal unlocked the door to the office, cleaner than the last time, no table set up, no food, just his office and a smaller room to the back, the door opened to it this time.

“Nervous.” Not entirely true, not entirely false. Hannibal scanned the room wondering exactly why they were here, it certainly wasn’t for trading apologies or petting egos.

Cal wasn’t sure either, but whatever they had to say would need to be private, as the whole complex did not need to know  _ everything _ about his life.

“Nervous good or nervous bad?” Cal asked, leaning back on his desk with both hands, watching Mark.

Hannibal looked around, there is no way Jack would allow him this much leeway with time or with Will. “I am not fond of nerves in either direction.” He turned back to look at Will, the way he leaned like he always did against his office desk back in Baltimore.

“Interesting choice of sermon you gave tonight.”

“I had inspiration. That’s why I invited you.” Cal sat on the desk, just on the lip of it, and folded his hands in his lap, between slightly spread thighs.

“Inspiration. How is that tied to me, exactly?” He took a step closer to Will but more to be nearer that scent and to bask in the sea-blue, quite sure Cal was in the process of either trying to convert him or, set him up with his other half here somewhere in the commune.

“There is something about you, Mark, that I can’t quite explain. No amount of meditation or prayer seems to give me any answers, not the ones I’m looking for.” Cal lifted his gaze to Mark, able to see his apprehension, the worry of what he meant by all this.

Hell, even Cal was nervous, he just didn’t  _ do _ these things. He didn’t know  _ how. _

Hannibal chuckled at that, “I’ll take that as a compliment, a man of mystery. It almost sounds as though there is a thick watery wall of jumbled words masking some hidden truth in there.” He brushed a single finger down his temple, and stepped back again, head tilted.

It was clear this was many things and still, nothing at all, not  _ yet. _

Mark’s presence alone left Cal a little more clear headed, and yet that much more confused when the feeling familiarity settled in his chest, like he should know this routine like an old hat.

“You asked me about nightmares once. I wake up almost every night from the feeling that I am drowning. Wading and through water and scratching toward the surface and waves, and then nothing. I wake up gasping for air.” Cal stood again, pacing as he talked, a habit. “It’s because I nearly drowned once. I don’t recall it, but Jack says, I hit a rock pretty hard, smacked my head right open.”

In an act that  _ might _ be viewed as simple comfort Hannibal took the very same hand that had let go that night, and held on. “Do you remember anything of what happened before you drowned? Perhaps someone urging you to swim? To  _ stay _ with him?”

Taking pause as Mark took his hand, Cal looked into amber warm eyes, a buzzing in his veins that seemed to grow hotter, but what Mark was asking of him was just not there. Cal shook his head slowly.

_ Him? _

“No. I was alone, it was a solo retreat at sea. A storm came in, destroyed the boat. I was lucky  Jack was there.”

Smart. Jack had woven real events of Will’s life in with the lies fed to him. In all likelihood Will wouldn’t remember the fall or even the beauty beforehand. But somewhere in there would be a trace of Hannibal that even drugs could not erase - not if Will was determined to find him and with enough prompting. Hannibal kept a hold of his hand but shifted and sat on the chair in front of him, looking up at Will and letting the glow of the fire play off his features. “Lucky indeed. Is that how you came to this place, Jack?”

Brow knit together, Cal shook his head, and gently slipped his hand out of Mark’s grasp, but placed it on his shoulder.

“See these are the questions you should have been asking for the book,” he said with a smile, and went to get two glasses for water. “No, I’ve been here since I was a little boy.”

“Should have..” Hannibal reiterated the past tense. “The chronological events of a person’s life does not necessarily tell their story. We are made up of moments and their meaning.” He took the glass with thanks, aware he was now going to be spun a web of well worn lies that tasted empty even to Will himself as he spoke. “Tell me, Cal, what did it  _ feel _ like to arrive here?” Hannibal paused. “My apologies. Professional habit. I am aware this  _ relationship _ is not working for you. I should probably leave, it is late.” He sat the water down and rose to standing.

Cal had promised one personal reveal if Mark had come to one of his community events, and Mark had, and Cal had spilled. He was growing more relaxed with Mark, less likely to build up the walls, friendly even.

“You’re leaving?” Cal asked, disappointed, blue eyes wide for a second, scrambling for anything -- something. But then, the light dropped from them completely. “Of course you are.” It was usually Cal who let people down, who told them it wouldn’t work, not other way around.

Just Sarah.

Mark would just be another Sarah.

“Thank you again, for coming. If you ever want to come to another one, you’re welcomed to…We’d be glad to have you.”

Hannibal stepped forward and clasped a hand over the back of Will’s neck, forcing him to look at him, no sideways glances or false bravado. “I will always stay when it is for the right reasons. You know where you can always find me.”

Giving his neck one firm squeeze, he left, seeing himself out. In time the penny should drop for someone even as confused as  _ Cal _ that Hannibal was no longer extending his stay for any hopes of a  _ book deal. _

That was not to say walking away was any easier.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Not beta'd, as usual, all mistakes are our own.  
> 2) This is where things get tricky and a little slippery. Hopefully you can follow what we're doing here. :)  
> 3) We do not claim to be professionals in the field of mind control, amnesia or anything like that, we've done some research and some of this fact and some is made up to work with the story. We've done our best, honest to God.  
> 

Feet sloshed through the mud, squishy and wet on bare skin.  A light drizzle of rain had started in the compound, and everyone was indoors, sleeping for the night, while Cal was out, dressed in only his sleep pants, rain misting his skin, goose bumped from the chill. As he made his way out of the complex, no one saw him, no one could stop him. Cal walked slowly up the dirt road, shuffling along, every so often murmuring down as if there were a dog beside him, following an unknown shadow that only he could see. When he came along Hannibal’s bungalow, he sighed and knocked on the door.

Hannibal had woken moments before the timid knock, sensing the air was disturbed around him. Pulling on a red sweater but leaving his pajamas as they were he smoothed his hair down and opened the door, “Will?” The cannibal didn’t miss a beat in taking advantage of this situation as he quickly brought the young man inside, locked the door and wrapped a blanket over him.

“Hannibal-” Will started to say, voice distant and dream-like, “Buster got out, we were just looking for him…” His eyes were open, but not focused, but Will knew very well where he was, and how to find Hannibal.

Oh the way his name rolled over his tongue like the roll of a lazy ocean wave - crashing with the same weight.

“Buster is safe and so are you. Do you believe me, Will?” Hannibal knelt in front of him, small medical kit at his feet as he knew he only had a narrow window.

Will sat, and nodded his head slowly, eyes on Hannibal, but not completely there.

Unresolved anger, stress, an inability to express emotion whatever the reason this for this sleepwalking Hannibal didn’t really care as the syringe dug into the younger man’s arm, “Give that a minute.” His voice a soft murmur in coaxing innocent ears to listen and obey.

As he waited for the drugs to take effect he knelt up and wrapped his arms around him, holding him to his chest, his steady heart beating with pulsing victoriousness and protectiveness all at once. Will shook, cold and wet, his head bent forward on Hannibal’s shoulder, teeth chattering away as his mind started to reel, the haze of sleep turning into the haze of the drug.

“Hannibal…” The name garbled off his tongue this time, stuck between the waking world and the sleep, drugged world.

“I’m here Will, I’ve got you. When was the last time you saw me?” Deft hands dress the brunet in his sweater as he slowly maneuvered them towards the fire. Although only coals now he stoked it until it roared to life, never losing his hold on  _ his _ Will.

“Cliff,” Will managed to get out, moving with Hannibal, only when he was moved, his head lolling slightly on his neck each time.

Hannibal sat up and held Will against his chest, just as he had done before going over the bluff, taking them back to that time. “Do you remember seeing and how beautiful it was together with me, Will?”

“Yes,” Will simply replied, ear pressed to Hannibal’s heart, the thick and heavy beats of it drumming against his skull with his own heavy pulse.

Not strictly part of the programming but one indulgence wouldn’t hurt. “Have you missed me?”

“Yes.” Will’s chilled grip sunk in against Hannibal’s chest, still warming to him, shivering.

Hannibal’s arms gripped tight around him, not letting go this time. He held Will’s head to his chest and pressed his lips to his forehead, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply with the scent of  _ Will _ . “I thought you were dead. I’ve missed you too, achingly so. But I am bringing you back. Do you trust me?” The cannibal rarely let his grief show, aware the intensity of feeling would be too much for the young empath to bare but in this muffled moment, intensity of feeling would only help prompt the truth further.

Mind clouded, Will still nodded-- there was little he didn’t trust Hannibal with, even after everything.

“Good.” He ran a reassuring hand over his back. “What did Jack do to you? And who is Cal Roberts?”

“Who?” Will’s head rolled back, hazy and unblinking up at Hannibal, no longer in the depth of sleep, but the haze of drugs, stuck in a limbo.

“What is your last memory of Jack?” Hannibal asked gently, the back of his hand stroking Will’s cheek. This was tedious, Jack had put memory blocks in place. But Hannibal wouldn’t be content with handing Will’s personality back on a silver platter, he wanted the boy to find it for himself.

“Right before we took you.”

“What happened after the fall, do you recall anything up until this moment?”

Will curled in on himself, the waves in his mind crashing over him, over and over again, cold and freezing. “N-no.”

“Do you want to find me, Will?” Hannibal’s voice is a stern slap now.

“Y-yes,” Will shivered, shaking now, his system was overwhelmed with drugs, cold, and memories as his waking mind tried to beat through.

“Then you have to swim. Push through. I have your hand but you have to  _ want _ to take it. Do you understand? Who are you?” Where the waves might have been cold and pounding, Hannibal’s voice was a warm hand, reaching through…

“Will--” his voice was starting to fade, eyes squeezed shut, closed, hand gripping Hannibal’s shoulders to try and steady himself, like he was being tugged away, with the current.

Hannibal gripped his face with both hands now, tugging his eyes open with the pads of his thumbs pressed against his cheeks, “You will remember every word of this conversation. Now, tell me, who are you?”

“Will… Will Graham.” He shook, and eyes rolling back a little, hand gripping tighter and then relaxed again.

Hannibal cupped the back of his head to stop his head lolling, “And who am I?” Earnest almost desperate blood-red eyes rake over Will’s face now as if he were back there again, reaching for that drowning hand.

“Hannibal…” Will said, wide blue eyes looking up at him now, still very unfocused, but he knew the other man, he  _ knew _ intimately.

There was one last thing Hannibal needed to be sure of knowing that there was at least a strongly likelihood that Will would wake with a vague knowing of who and  _ what _ each other was. “And what am I to you?” The hands that cupped his face now traced his cheekbones with tender motions.

“Ache.”

Hannibal smiled sadly, “Yes, ache. When you wake, remember you are Will Graham. That I am Hannibal Lecter. Remember that we are each other’s  _ ache _ .” Hannibal pressed a firm palm to Will’s chest before helping him to his feet and guiding him to his bed.

He dressed him in what pajamas he had and tucked him, ensuring any trace of a shiver was gone before settling to a chair at the end of the bed, keeping watch over his sleeping ex-agent.

***

Cal woke to warm sunbeams, no sign of a chilly rain in sight. He curled under the covers, warm and comfortable, to only then realize he had no bed this large, nor a comforter this soft. In fact, nothing smelled quite as it should either. Carefully, Cal opened his eyes, seeing Mark beside, in a chair sleeping.

Oh, this was  _ bad _ .

Attuned to his boy’s every motion Hannibal’s eyes blinked open to see the blanched expression on Will’s face. “Good morning. Can I make you coffee?” Careful not to use names or press for any recognition.

Cal rubbed his bare feet against soft sheets nodding his head. “Please. One sugar.” He sat up, slowly, his aching hard, almost like he’d had one too many… “Did I sleep walk here?”

“Indeed you did. How do you feel?”

Hannibal waited until his back was turned to smile at the request for one sugar. He turned on the machine and returned to sit on the end of the bed, heavy hand resting on Will’s leg.

“Like I had one too many shots of whiskey,” Cal said, it had been a long time since he’d had whiskey, alcohol wasn’t something he partook in often, if at all. He looked at Mark, scrunching his eyes a little as he looked at him -- really  _ looked _ at him.

And Hannibal let him look for a long time, that silent language passing between them with gently coaxing whispers of nothing on the air:  _ remember the ache. _

With a warm smile his hand rubbed his leg and gave it a friendly tap, “Perhaps some  _ water _ then, too?”

Cal reached over and snatched Mark’s hand, intense blue eyes meeting his own. His mind was cluttered, overwhelmingly so. Everything at once and nothing at all.

“Please.”

Hannibal held his hand neither too hard nor too hot as he placed his other hand over his wrist, just keeping him there. And while he didn’t smile his expression remained soft and open, amber eyes  _ seeing _ and angular planes smooth and relaxed, “Do you  _ remember _ your dreams...?” There was a hint of space left at the end of the question where Will’s name would perch in any other circumstance.

“I was… following a stag,” Cal said, trying to slip his hand back, but Mark’s touch was comforting, given the situation, even if he was  _ sure _ he ought to get dressed and leave.

Cal laughed inwardly at the thought, he probably showed up in near nothing.

Hannibal looked down at Will’s restless hand. “They used to say that drinking from the heart of the stag cured the illness and  _ ache _ of the heart. I will let go, if you ask me to.” The soft glow of his amber gaze tracing up the lines of his neck and jaw to rest on sea-blue again.

The intensity of Cal’s eyes softened a little, a whisper of a smile on his lips as he looked at their hands, and then up at Mark again, the need for water long forgotten, as the other man seemed to be more than enough to make him forget about it.

“You’re not really a writer, are you?”

Hannibal lifted Will’s hand to his heart to feel the heartbeat there, “What am I then, to you?” Hannibal allowed the heated curl of his accent to flow fully through his words, coaxing, beckoning. He shifted that bit closer to Will, the bed groaning as he shifted the weight of his thighs.

“A missing piece,” Cal said, without much thought, after all, it had been what his sermon was about, the reason he had asked Mark there, to hear it. What Cal could do with that missing piece, he wasn’t sure yet.

He also pretty sure Mark was going to see right through him soon the way Sarah could, and decide he was not worth the effort. Cal knew he could be high maintenance, and a part of him was sure that Mark was, too. That combination could get very sticky.

Hannibal chuckled, “And where does this missing piece fit in your current world, Cal?” Hannibal used the wrong name on purpose here. Would Will stand to hear the cannibal whisper sweet nothings to a man who was  _ not _ Will Graham or would this take repeated midnight walks, terrified and freezing drug induced breakthroughs, or, would Will swim to the surface. Either way, Hannibal would wait, as he had always done, whether he admitted it or not.

He kept Will’s hand in place as he shifted closer again.

“I don’t know. I don’t get involved with people outside of the movement, usually,” he said, eyes tracing the curve of Mark’s lips, finding it hard not to stare, and the temptation of being this close was great. “And I don’t peg you as a man who is going to be coerced into joining either.”

The temptation was great but this, this was not something Hannibal would take advantage of. He made one more shift, leaning his broad back against the bedhead and gently wrapping an arm around Will’s narrow shoulders as he slowly pressed his head to his heart, “Then let us just take this slow. Until we  _ know _ each other.”

He neither confirmed nor denied his desire to join Meyerism, thus leaving open the possibility of future invites - if that was the only way to keep coaxing Will forward, Hannibal would suffer through the trite words and mundane faces of the maddeningly polite crowds to wait him out.

Cal froze there, listening to the slow thrum of Mark’s heart, familiar, like getting a breath of air under the tides of crashing water after slowly drowning.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Would you rather I let go...Cal?” Hannibal whispered the words against his shorter but no less silky hair, long fingers stroking the base of his neck.

What Cal wanted to do was crawl over the other man and pin him to the bed… His imagination was vivid in the things he wanted to do to Mark Lander, but the impurity of his thoughts tugged guiltily against his conscience, making him pull away, one hand pressed against Mark’s chest.

“Slow,” he sighed, licking his bottom lip once, and slipped out of the bed before he let himself give into temptations. He let out a shaky breath, calming his nerves, his needs, and his  _ wants _ all at once.

Hannibal observed the way Will struggled with his desires - confirming all at once what he had always dreamed of, and then ripping it away. The cannibal swallowed a thick lump and nodded with a smile. “There are some spare clothes in the bathroom. I will make you some breakfast.” He had been sure to lay out a sweater thick with his own scent - olfactory conditioning was something that Jack could  _ not _ wash away, drugs or no.

He guided the younger man towards the bathroom and returned to the kitchen to prepare a plain meal of coffee, toast and eggs.

As much as Cal wanted to just release himself in Mark’s bathroom, he knew that there was no coming back from that, so he let it be. He dressed, clothes a little too large for him, but nothing a belt wouldn’t fix. He pulled the sweater on, suddenly struck dumb with a vision of Mark touching the side of his neck, holding his jaw, and gazing at him as though he were everything. Only that wasn’t Mark… it was man who looked him, dressed in finer clothes and smelling of expensive cologne.

Cal shivered, and opened the bathroom door, pulling socks on his cold feet, and padded down the hallway to find Mark.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Hannibal gestured to the table. “All organic and entirely vegetarian.” He took a seat, posture perfect and the table set simply and elegantly. The fire freshly stoked just over his shoulder as the cold light of dawn was forced to retreat with it’s warmth.

“Perhaps,” Cal said, taking a seat across from Mark, looking down at the food. “You went out of your way for me?”

He hadn’t  _ told _ Mark they did not eat meat, but he supposed it was obvious from the lunch they had at their first meeting.

Will’s coyness was returning in small doses and it warmed the cannibal’s heart better than any fire. Hannibal took a small bite, “You sound surprised that someone might care enough to ensure you were comfortable and safe.” He picked up his coffee and drank as he studied Will’s pale face. He cradled the cup between both hands as his elbows rested on the table, exposing thickly muscled forearms dusted with hair.

“Many people do, but none that aren’t part of my community. You’re the first.” Cal was reminded of his meeting with Mr. Ridge and his wife, and the look he was given when he told the man he didn’t eat lobster.

He reached for the coffee, done up with one sugar, as he asked for, though not sure now why he had, but on sipping it, it tasted like  _ home. _

Hannibal couldn’t stop from smiling at Will, or more correctly, Cal, unravelled slowly before him. If there was one thing Will Graham could  _ never _ fight against was the truth of his feelings. “Well, I hope to be the first of many things for you. And I can assure you, none of them will be offered out of a sense of duty or with any expectation of any kind. My home is your  _ home _ .” Hannibal was growing increasingly sure that underneath all that seeking, all that turning to God and unburdening was a need to find  _ home. _

Cal nodded, and ate a piece of toast, his stomach a tad unsettled. He could feel the truth in Mark’s words, he had no doubt he meant them. He swallowed and took another sip of his drink, and then set the mug down.

  
“You never did answer my question, Mark. You aren’t a writer, so the question is, why are you acting as one to get close to me?” Cal wasn’t blind, and it didn’t take a vision to see that Mark had come up with this very elaborate plan to get to Cal.

He prepared for this to go south--that he might have to take off in second.

Hannibal was quite happy to let the unease stew and curdle in Will’s gut. He let all of the younger man’s words strain the air between them, teasing at the idea of rejection and abandonment. He took a sip of coffee and then another before setting his cup down and perching the angle of his jaw on steepled fingers, “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.” Cal’s brows furrowed in deeply, holding Mark’s eye for a long moment, obviously hurt. There could only be ease and truth between them, and if Mark -- if that was even his real name--couldn’t be honest, then there wasn’t a point in continuing.

Cal wouldn’t be used; not anymore.

Not again.

“I have risked a great deal..I have risked my  _ life _ to find you  _ again _ . I am someone from your past, but you have no memory of me, for now. But if the people around you were to suspect who I am, we would be torn apart  _ again _ . You know the truth of who I am, somewhere, in there, for you to find and  _ feel _ out. You can either use it as a weapon to push me away or, we can take it  _ slow,  _ until both the ache and truth are appeased.” Hannibal picked up his dishes and placed them in the sink and poured himself another coffee offering Will the same.

“The  _ choice _ is  _ yours _ .”

_ That _ Cal had not expected to leave Mark’s mouth. Listening to the curl of words in an accented tongue, Cal started to feel a surreality cloud over his senses, vision clouded in a white hot heat that also boiled in his veins. He stood, shaking his head.

“No, this is…  _ sick _ . I-” Cal was at a loss for what to say he was so furious, being used, and toyed with as a replacement for someone Mark obviously knew at some point. He knew people could be needy, but he never thought he’d be subject to such a scam.

“No,” he said again, “I’m not going to feed your delusion, Mr. Lander, or whatever your real name is. You’re… sick, and you need help. I would offer a recommendation, but I think it’s best if you  _ don’t  _ come back to the community.”

Hannibal remained perfectly at ease, each word landing like a bomb in his chest that he refused to let explode, yet. “Then I suppose this is goodbye then, Mister Roberts. I would ask that you don’t worry about me. Think of me, but don’t worry about me.” He hinted that there would now be a complete absence after this moment, all because of Will’s  _ choice.  _ There was only one delusion being fed here.

Cal took the sweater off and tossed it over the back of a chair on his way to the door, where he paused, a slight revelation, even if he couldn’t place how he knew, or why. He didn’t look back.

“Goodbye, Hannibal.”  And then he was gone, door shut behind him.

Hannibal smiled at that and spent the day working off the pain in his chest by packing up his bungalow and cleaning away any trace of DNA. As far as anyone would be concerned if Cal spoke and pointed them here, he may have well been talking to a ghost or one of his visions.

But that was not to say that Hannibal would not be watching, somewhere, still waiting. But it wasn’t only Will he needed to protect here.


	7. Chapter 7

Having never felt so thoroughly duped, Cal kept the issue he had been faced with to himself. A blow to his ego, but not one he wouldn’t come back from with a little time. He should have known that someone would try to play him and his empathy, trying to get close, to replace someone, a loved one at that. Communities like theirs with a sense of openness and care for one another were often targeted by these sorts of people. All the more reason Cal had to batten down the hatches for a while, and keep a closer watch on who they brought in and who wanted media coverage.

No more talks of books.

No more talks in general unless they were unrelated to Cal.

The violation he felt to his core ran deeper than he suspected, as if Mark had dug in his claws and left them behind there, scratching at the back of his mind.

Like the Devil himself.

Cal should have taken the image warning at their first meeting when he saw Mark turn into a beast he’d only seen in his nightmares.

Keeping busy while at the compound, Cal had his hands deep in soil when Agent Jack Crawford strolled up, as if the man had some kind of honing device on Cal and his moods. For now, it was a welcomed distraction from the pieces of his mind starting to crack apart, the visions, the worsening nightmares…

Cal’s mental state was even starting to worry a few of the members, but no one felt the ease they usually did around the man to actually speak their mind about it. They didn’t have to, Will could almost feel it rolling off of them.

Looking up from his spot where he was digging holes for new plants, new vegetables, Cal asked; “What brings you around here, Jack?”

Jack looked around, hands in his heavy trench coat pockets, and then back at Cal. “You know I like to come and check on you. How are things?”

“They’re  _ great _ .” Cal went back to working, digging and digging, as if trying to maybe dig himself one big enough bury himself in. At least until he stopped feeling so… cruddy.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days, Cal.”

The younger man looked up again. “Nothing that concerns the FBI, Jack. I’ve been busy.”

“Busy giving interviews, talking to authors about book deals…” Jack accused, of course, hinting that he knew something, that maybe he’d been watching, or just overheard. “Not all media is good media.”

Standing, Cal brushed his hands off on his dirty work jeans, head canted at Jack. “It didn’t work out. No book.”

“You seem disappointed.”

“Drop it, Jack.” Cal started to walk away, and Jack followed, clearly worried about his friend, a man he had saved from certain death a few years back.

“Okay, okay. It’s dropped. How’s Steve? Any better?”

Cal sighed, waiting until they were in his office and the door was shut to continue this conversation. He handed Jack a glass of water, who took it and waited for Cal’s explanation.

“He’s worse. I can talk to him, but there’s no response. The doctors say we’re probably keeping him alive with machines, that he’d be gone otherwise…” Cal shook his head, “I can’t… the movement isn’t ready to move on without him yet.”

It hit Cal like a ton of bricks just then, that this was what he  _ should _ have been doing: preparing the community for Steve’s departure and  _ his _ own becoming. He had to get back and finish the rungs, no more worrying over Mark  Lander, or Hannibal, whatever his name might actually be.

“Cal?” Jack’s voice broke him from his reverie, and the younger man stared at him, blinking.

“Hm? Oh, sorry, Jack.” Cal worked around Jack, packing his things as he went.

“Going somewhere?”

The brunet nodded; “Home.”

***

_ Home  _ Hannibal mused as he listened to Will and Jack from where he was watching - always watching. There was only one place Will would consider home, outside of what he could remember of himself of course.

As soon as he was sure Jack was gone Hannibal turned over the engine and as the car coughed to life he took off down the green-shrouded highway and booked the first flight out for Peru. He would be sure to arrive ahead of Will which would give him time enough to make the necessary preparations as well as rid himself of this awful, dirty, bad-coffee drinking persona. Hannibal wasn’t  _ quite _ sure which he would be more relieved for, to have his own identity back or Will’s. The ache in his chest quickly reminded him of the rightful importance there.

***

Peru was warmer, and Cal could shed his jacket here, put on short sleeves instead of long ones for a while. On arrival, he took a long way back to the compound where Steve was being taken care of, enjoying the scenery, and taking in everything. It allowed him time to think before getting set into work for the long haul. He wouldn’t come out of this until he was finally finished. This was their work --  _ his _ work.

Arriving at the compound, he made his way up steps to Steve’s room.

Hannibal was sitting by Steve’s bedside, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap as he gazed out the window, fully aware that Will was approaching. The thin air made his scent all the more telling. Hannibal had dressed as he usually would, mirror-shine loafers, silk-cotton pants and a crisp white shirt, rolled up to the elbows with a single button undone at the top to reveal a shadow of chest hair. His usual and rare aftershave was carried on his earthy scent. He was now clean shaven with far shorter hair, both accentuated his sharp and now tanned features.

It honestly hadn’t taken much to find the commune let alone pass as a treating Doctor, the gullible were after all, gullible and consistently deferent to authority - especially when it came dressed in a mask of beauty such as Hannibal and Will both wore easily masking the squirming dark beasts beneath.

As the door opened he turned his head just so, “Hello, Will.”

Cal froze just there, in the doorway, watching the man he had thought he was getting to know, sit there, with his  _ mentor _ , like a menacing beast getting ready to strike down what was most important to Cal. A repercussion for what Cal had done, for leaving, for not playing into a delusion?

“What are you doing here?” His bag was dropped to the floor and the door kicked shut behind him.

Hannibal turned to look at Steve as he rose to his full height, his posture perfect and looming, the true face of his power filling the room as he stroked the dying man’s forehead with the utmost tenderness. “Waiting for you.” As if the answer was obvious. The unspoken conversation resumed.  _ One. False. Move. _

Cal’s hands turned into fists, fingers curled tight against his palm, eyes blazing into Hannibal as he watched him touched, and threaten Steve.

“Don’t,” Cal warned.

Hannibal’s gaze drifted down to Will’s fists. “Tell me how will you do it?” He turned his attention away from Steve now, hands sliding into his pockets as he walked towards Will, head canted forward, just  _ so. _

“How would I do it?” The younger man repeated back, jaw tense as he rolled his shoulders back, anger heavy in his chest, not yet unburdened, not sure if it would have helped honestly even if he had.

His fingers slipped loose and reached over to snatch at the lapels of Hannibal’s jacket, tugging him close, down to Cal’s level, blue eyes seething and dark, a storm ripping through him like a hurricane.

“With my hands.” He pushed Hannibal hard up against the wall, and punched him, a good right hook, across the jaw, twice, the crunch of bone prominent in his ears, muffling out all other noise.

“How  _ personal. _ ”  The cannibal sneered through blood stained teeth “As would I.” He grunted out between punches. His presence had had the desired effect, drawing Will close enough to drive the needle deep into his thigh.

He shoved the smaller man off him with a shrug and watched with disinterest as he hit the floor. Walking to the sink he washed the blood off his teeth and examined the stain on his shirt.  _ Pity _ . Blood doesn’t come out of silk. 

Scooping an arm under Will and picking up his bag he started to walk him down the hall. As he was approached by one of the followers he explained in earnest that Cal was unwell and that being a doctor he would see he got the medical attention he needed.

As he walked Will to his car, half carrying him now as his feet dragged on the ground behind him, “Oh, and to answer your question I am both a surgeon and a psychiatrist.” He rolled him into the back seat, closed and locked the door and drove him back to his small but elegant apartment atop the main district there.

Killing the engine Hannibal opened the car door, offering Will his hand, “We’re home, Will.”

The world was a haze for Cal, dizzying, and nothing like drugs he’d ever been on for enlightenment. He stumbled out, taking Hannibal’s hand, trying to support himself, but his legs just didn’t have the notion to  _ move _ on their own.

“This isn’t home,” he slurred.

Hannibal scooped him up, closing the door with his elbow and carried him up the stairs, “Hm, and where is home then, Will?”

“Moosehead Lake,” Cal heard himself say, responding with answers he didn’t know he had, and to a name he wasn’t aware he went by. His mind was muddled and conflicted.

Hannibal grinned, shouldering the door closed behind him and locking it. “Indeed. But hopefully this will be adequate for now.”

He carried Will to the bedroom and laid him out, offering him some water. The room was clean with hints of opulence far more in line with his usual taste. The house was remote with high mountain views across the city. Meanwhile the room was set up with everything needed to undo all the damage Jack had inflicted since the fall from the bluff. This time Hannibal was not letting up until Will was free from the constructed identity of Cal Roberts and could make his own choice regarding his  _ ache. _

Head lolling a little, Cal took the offered glass, dribbling it down his chin and shirt in the process. His hazy sight started to see Hannibal come and go, a horrifying wendigo like creature stepping in and out of his position, the beast he kept seeing in his nightmares, moreso over the last few weeks now.

“Why?”

Hannibal set the glass down with a sigh, a thousand difficult answers summing up to one easy one that this man in front of him was so very far from understanding, yet. He took his hand and held it against his heart. “See?”

_ It’s beautiful _ .

It rung in his head, and Cal had to close his eyes to  try and concentrate, but whatever Hannibal had given him, made it hard to do much of anything but think straight.

“You-you’re Hannibal L-lecter….”

Hannibal shifted into position, back and shoulders against the bedhead and Will against his heart, “Yes. Who are you?”

_ Will Graham. _ “Cal Roberts.”

“Will you let go of me that easily?” Hannibal was not above any level of manipulation here. It was clear Jack wasn’t.

_ WILL GRAHAM. WILL GRAHAM. WILL-- _

Cal covered his ears as if trying to make the voices stop, the chanting, all of it. “Graham…” he finally gasped out. “God, make it stop…”

Bits and pieces of a life he knew nothing about was starting to seep into his vision, into his thoughts, his memories, breaking down barriers and walls, and nothing fit together right. Head aching, Cal held it now with both hands as his stomach churned, heaving.

Hannibal lifted the bucket to Will’s chin, “Only you can make it stop. When you stop fighting the voices you’ll feel better. If you don’t, you’ll lose me forever. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter will drown and die.”

Hannibal was  _ not _ speaking in metaphor.

Cal wiped his chin, then his mouth with a trembling hand, wondering if it would be smart to just play along. However, playing along would not get rid of the voices, whatever Lecter gave to him was making him crazy, making him believe he was this Will Graham.

Leaning back again, he rested his head on Hannibal’s chest, trying to calm his mind, but when he closed his eyes, all he saw were the murdered corpses of people he’d never seen before, flashes of a girl bleeding to death, dogs, and a cliff.

“Again?”

Hannibal eased down and pulled Will over him, as he had attempted to do before they hit the water, the larger man more likely to live through the fall. “I thought you were dead. There was no sign of you after the fall. I saw you drown, your body sucked down by the rip. Jack found you, suffering amnesia and took it upon himself to brainwash you. If you can find your way back you can choose for yourself whether you want to lose me,  _ again _ .” Whether Will would survive rejecting Hannibal Lecter was another point entirely. Or vice versa.

It… made sense actually, but it also worked against everything Cal knew about his life, how long he’d been there, how everyone knew him… His head reeled, mind on fire, but he could do nothing to actually get away from Hannibal, nearly immobile.

Hannibal was genuinely sorry to see Will in this level of pain. It was one thing to play games and manipulate and even kill but it was another to steal your very identity. It lacked  _ elegance. _ “It hurts, doesn’t it, to have your identity taken from you. But I imagine no where near as much as feeling all those needing people all day long without the comfort of your dogs, your home, your  _ friend. _ ” Hannibal cupped the side of Will’s jaw and gently stroked down the tense lines there.

“Dogs,” Cal whispered, looking up at Hannibal. “My life… Cal’s life...it’s so implanted.”

“It is. I can spend the next few weeks implanting Will Graham’s life back into you but unlike Jack, I would much rather you make your own choice to fight for what you want to remember. You have done it once before. I believe you can do it again. I think you can too.” Hannibal nodded to the syringes and metronome laid out ready for use, not hiding anything.

“Oh, one last thing.” Hannibal whistled as Winston trotted back in. He was not unaware that their relationship would induce its own level of conflict but Winston was a very simple truth that Will Graham could grasp with both hands without fear or conflict marring the way.

Jack often failed to miss the subtle, elegant things.

Hannibal tried not to show any hint of disdain as the dog made himself at home on the bed.

Cal lifted a shaky hand and Winston came to him, licking and sniffing him, like he hadn’t seen him in  _ years _ . “Winston,” he whispered, a flashback of a cold night back in Wolftrap, trying to get the mangy dog to come home with him, and then he did, and he bathed him, washed him… kept him.

“Yes. You often preferred the company of dogs over people.” Hannibal chuckled at the small pack that used to follow him everywhere. “I imagine you missed them. I did not see any pets at the commune of yours.”

“There are a … a few.” Cal felt like his life was slipping away before his eyes, washed down like stains on a window. Still laying on Hannibal, he curled his arm around the dog, closing his eyes, and Winston just let him, happily.

“I wasn’t sure what he ate?” De-programming by sublimation.

“I make it.”

“I thought you might.” Hannibal knew he did. “Do you know the recipe. I want him to be happy here, with you.” He closed his eyes, listening to Will talk.

“Broth. Carrots…Rice…” The words drawled out of Cal in little slurs as he snuggled the dog.

Hannibal decided against raising the subject of meat, for now. “I will make sure he is cared for.” He moved to get the next syringe.

Cal started to move, a little more control, and tried to sit up, to see what it was Hannibal was moving for. But where Will was moving at a slugging pace, Hannibal was smooth and fast as the second needle dug deep into his arm. As he waited for the drugs to take effect he sat Will up and then blacked the room out, lighting up the metronome and setting it to a steady pace, one that matched his own heart rate.

And with that the prompting began, relentless and digging at Will’s past life, the events of that night when the ocean split them both in two in different ways and, Jack’s ongoing meddling. Will’s only true comfort throughout this was Winston but even he was a memory Will could not escape.


	8. Chapter 8

What felt like mere hours turned into days, maybe even weeks. Will -- _ Cal _ \-- had no sense of time. Visions of a real life blurred in front of him while the ghosts of another life haunted him, fading in and out slowly, taunting him, begging him, berating him. Deaths of friends, deaths of the unknown reeling past him in a blur, staking claim on his memory, and bits of his heart. Suddenly all those dreams, all those nightmares and sleepwalking moments made sense.

Mind on fire, a familiar feeling, but not for the reasons of illness, but because it was working much too hard to escape one reality and gain back another. Some memories were clear, and some were not,  mixed into a wash of religion and police work.

“Can’t-” he breathed, like sucking in ice cold water, “Couldn’t hold-”

His hands clenched over his sweaty neck, hunched over the bed, as the last memory he ever had of Hannibal relinquished to the top of his mind, crashing against the frozen waves of the atlantic. He had held tight, he had held fast and strong, and then they were ripped from each other. Will had smacked his head somewhere on the rocky bits in the water, fingers unfurled from Hannibal’s shirt, and sunk.

Jack found him.

Hannibal could only watch as Will struggled. All the urging and prompting in the world would not bring this tea-cup back together, not entirely. It was as if time had reversed but there were holes in the equation were reality would always warp and twist - constantly disrupting and beyond the normal and elegant chaos of nature.

The blame lay entirely at Jack’s feet. Amnesia was one thing. To push a broken mind beyond its threshold of coping, even by Hannibal’s standards, was abhorrent. With such conditions as TGA it wouldn’t have just been Will’s past memories that were damaged but he would always have vague struggles with memory. While the cult would have helped Will to have structure that he could hold on to in some respects, it was such a radical departure from who he was and what he would normally cope with it was likely doing ongoing emotional damage. Jack had essential infected Will with an ongoing disease of breaking.

Just as Hannibal’s ongoing attempts to heal Will were. As such, all good books of equations, medications and metronomes were put away.

He stood in darkness, entirely still in time and place as he watched his would-be-lover curl in on himself scrambling for some island of reprieve - but there was none. Hannibal was never one to give up but he was also one who openly admitted his limitations and the limitations of reality as it presented itself.

The gentle and dark equation that held Will together was gone.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Hannibal made a point of not using names, now. He wrapped an arm around Will and guided him back into bed and tugged him against him, holding him there - no resentment or expectations. He was no longer concerned by Winston’s presence, either.  

“You don’t need to hold on. You can let go, if you want to. I’ve still got you.” It was clear Will would always be slipping from his grip, he would be the one to hold now. That was if the man in front of him chose to stay when he woke from his drugged stupor. Whatever his choice, Hannibal would not punish him for it, he did not prey on the innocent.

Bloodshot, bright blue eyes looked up at Hannibal, his whole body shaking, sweaty and flushed, breathing raggedly as his mind tried to pace and piece together events and memories, exhausting him.

“Why…” Simply a question, for everything, as Cal, as Will, clung to Hannibal with fingers that tightened around his shirt.

_ Why indeed _ . There were many unanswered questions here that would be near impossible to explain to Will in this state. “Because I care about your life.”

Where Will clung with strained and sweaty fingers, Hannibal eased them free and stretched his fingers out, softly massaging them until they relaxed. “See? Still here.” Will’s hair was longer now and Hannibal could bury his nose in the scent of it as he spoke.

It was hard to see anything, hard to know anything with a the mixed up mind he had right now. Will’s eyes rolled shut a few times, sure that  _ sleep _ would be the best thing at this point, but also afraid if he did sleep, he’d wake stuffed back under, caught between nowhere in his own mind.

“Hannibal…” he whispered, feeling that desperate tug he usually had been Hannibal had pulled him under with drugs.

“Sleep. I promise Winston and I will be here when you wake. I also promise no more drugs. I always keep my promises, you know that much to be true.” He wrapped the blanket tighter around Will.

Far too exhausted to argue, they fell asleep, heavy and limp in Hannibal’s arms, Winston curled up at his side, sweating and shaking even through the sleep, as his body worked off the last of the drugs, sending him into a deep slumber of nightmares.

Hannibal held him for a while, just watching him sleep. Sleep was the wrong word, what Will was suffering through as he tossed and turned was more a blind struggle against the churning horror of his mind while his body simply collapsed. It was almost too painful to watch - but the cannibal didn’t let go, at least not for a while.

Sure that Winston would guard and provide comfort in his absence, Hannibal locked all the doors, except for the one from Will’s bedroom to the main living area, and retreated to the kitchen. Palms pressed against the edge of the bench and shoulders hunched Hannibal caught his breath - Will wasn’t the only one who was exhausted. But sleep was far from Hannibal’s grasp for now so he busied himself cooking as he was prone to do when his mind was unsettled.

It was some hours later when the soft, sea-breeze was broken by the smell of Silkie chicken in a broth. A black-boned bird prized in China for its medicinal values since the 7th century. Wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates, and star anise all brewing in a large silver pot on the stove. One of the difficult aspects of hypnosis was keeping the subject fed - Will’s body would need rebuilding even if his mind was beyond it.

Actual sleep did not come, at least not restfully so. Will’s mind cluttered with past images of cases, of murders, and horrors no one should ever have to see. When his eyes finally opened, his mind freer of the mess, of the drugs, Cal looked around the room, lazy, stormy eyes taking into account, right down to the curtains, and his current state of sweaty pajamas. He slowly crawled off the bed, weakened, and Winston by his side, whimpering at him. The whimpering alerted the cannibal to Will’s presence. With a slow turn of the handle he opened the door without a word not wanting to disturb this fragile space more than it needed to be. He offered his hand if Will wanted to take it.

Will took it, unable to get his own bearings just yet. Winston stayed close to his side, nudging him as he got his feet, having to lean a little more on Hannibal than he might otherwise like right now. Hannibal steadied him without taking advantage. Seeing that he was in no state to shower just yet, despite very much needing to, he guided him to the lounge where there was a sweeping view of the the ocean and the city and some food waiting, if he wanted it. All without a word.

Words were nearly useless between them now. Their meaning barely sticking let alone making any impact. Actions would sooth more than anything, he hoped. Hannibal stayed close without hovering and without abandoning.

Will took a seat near the window, and a bowl of the offered soup, a memory brought forth right on the smell alone.

“Here we are again. You making me soup to help drudge me out of woes you helped me into,” Will murmured around the spoon, all him, all the spitefulness he was capable of, the very sort of thing that Hannibal had loved about him.

Hannibal chuckled as he took a seat beside, watching the view as Will ate - that, at least, was pleasing. Knowing Will was eating again and enjoying what was provided. “I suppose so.” There was some quiet space as Will ate and Winston found a place to settle. “Would you have preferred I left you there?”

Will slurped soup off the spoon a few times with a shaky hand, still not quite in control, but refused to ask for help either. He’d manage. He considered Hannibal’s offer, which all he knew, all he still could not remember, and all things that were implanted into him by Jack and Steve Meyers. A clear answer was not going to be the right one.

“Besides you, who was I hurting being there, Hannibal?”

Hannibal had survived the impact and grief once, he would again. “As you wish.”

Setting the spoon down in the bowl, Will reached out and snatched Hannibal’s hand, looking him straight in the eye, just as he had that night they killed the dragon.

“I know you did this to help me, or you think you did. It’s… it’s a lot more of you wanting me back, too though.” He wasn’t accusing, these had been the games for a while, for years, between them. “And that’s okay. You know me.”

He might not have been hurting anyone being there, but in how many years would things start to deteriorate and crumble? How many years before Cal became Will, before Cal started to murder people…

On Second thought… maybe that was already thing.

Hannibal and Will had played games - and enjoyed them - because they were equals. They were not equals, now. Will’s power of mind was not in question, but neurological damage was just that, damage. And Hannibal would not play that to his advantage, not in the same way Jack had.

Smiling, Hannibal brought Will’s hand to his lips and spoke over the rough fingers there, “The path to hell, as they say, is paved with good intentions.” Holding Will’s hand in his as he leaned back in the chair. “I did know you, once. And that’s okay. The door to whichever life you choose is still open. I promise I will not call on you. I won’t have you stay or go out of fear.” He took a deep breath and blinked slowly, easing himself down in the chair as he crossed his legs, his free hand trailing over Winston’s velvet ears. Will was not the only one in need of solace.

The teacup really had shattered this time, into pieces that could not be easily picked up and glued back together, nor could time reverse and undo the damage done. Will wanted to argue, he also wanted to scream. He squeezed Hannibal’s hand as he wet his lower lip, and looked everywhere but at Hannibal.

“Change isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Will whispered, working his jaw around the words. “Adapt to a situation. It… it’ll be hard…” He raised his brows toward Hannibal .”Unless you don’t want to know this other…  _ person _ they put in me.”

And why would Hannibal? Cal was a thick headed religious nut, eating crunchy granola and salads all day. Nothing at all to Hannibal’s liking.

Hannibal squeezed Will’s hand but kept his eyes on the horizon, gaze narrowing ever so slightly as he recounted. “Winston was adopted out. The family he had were quite attached. But he was kept in a yard, fed tinned food. He wasn’t groomed and rarely walked. But Winston, being as he is, still wagged his tail every time a person walked by.” Hannibal shifted to stroke his now well-groomed head some more. “I had to pay them a lot of money and buy them a specially trained puppy, to appease their daughter - greedy little girl, really. Then, I had find someone to make false papers for he and I. He is, by the way, a registered seeing-eye dog and I am legally blind. He is far from fond of aeroplanes and less fond of argumentative customs officials. When we did arrive, he immediately got sick - the altitude shift was too much. I was lucky to find a vet that specialized in imported animals. Do you know what he takes to stay alive now? Viagra of all things.” Hannibal chuckled to himself. “That was one prescription I never thought I would have to forge, but, here we are.”

Hannibal had made a space for Winston in his life, because he cared. Why would it be any different for Will and what or whoever else came with him?

He let the story rest with will. The mind understands the world in stories - far easier to digest that confronting professions of love or commitment. Just a stray dog who took a very long and dangerous adventure back to find his owner.

Will gave Hannibal’s hand one small tug, no other words needed right now, and then let go, a simple offering, inviting him over to sit with him should he want to, while Will pick up his bowl and spoon again, steadying his palms and fingers around it. He understood, acceptance of self meant Hannibal would accept too. Will just had to find that self, or an easy medium. He knew who he was, but certain memories dared to play tricks on him.

Hannibal eased in beside Will, his hip shifting the smaller man’s just enough that they were comfortable side by side. He wrapped a long arm around his shoulders as he took hold of the bowl, holding it while Will ate.

“There is a fine line between knowing what is more difficult, undoing brainwashing or getting Winston to take his pills.”

“You gotta wrap it up in sausage,” Will said, tilting his head up enough to give Hannibal a knowing look, though with shorter hair, his eyes seemed wider and far more innocent, a trait that he carried on no matter what life was given to him. A false facade. And a facade the cannibal had always seen through.

Hannibal brushed a finger under Will’s chin, “I’ll keep that in mind, shall I?”

“You shall,” Will murmured, sucking broth off the spoon as Hannibal helped him hold the bowl, quietly putting the thought of  _ chicken _ in his soup out of his mind, as the pinpricks of Cal’s upbringing started to seep through.

Hannibal hummed in response all at once adoring of Will’s game and resenting them as well, they both knew that the older man held high values for himself and not taking sexual advantage was one.

He tore his gaze away from those soft lips playing around silver as he felt Will go rigid. He would ask if everything was okay, but that would be beyond asinine in this circumstance. Will finished the soup without much else, and set the bowl in Hannibal’s hand to put aside, not trusting his own unsteady ones. He then rested up against Hannibal, as he had done in so many instances where he’d been drugged or ill, and this was no different, only in that he had a bit more control over himself, at least physically.

“It would take a lot of explaining to the movement community, and a lot of hiding from Jack if I were to go back full time…”

Hannibal wrapped one arm around his shoulder, the other his waist. Where his palms rested his fingers grazed along Will’s bones while he nuzzled his face into the crook of Will’s neck, aware that this could very well be a goodbye.

“It would take a lot but it is far from impossible if that is your choice.” Hannibal very much doubted Jack was going to be a problem for much longer in any circumstance.

Will’s eyes closed as Hannibal did that, a comfort he didn’t even know he needed until now. He rested one hand on the back of Hannibal’s head, fingers threaded through soft strands, tilting his head back enough to look at Hannibal up close.

“I don’t know that it is my choice. My choice when we killed Dolarhyde was to finally see, to finally be with you. That choice was taken from me, and now  I have these conflicting...responsibilities, and I don’t even want them.”

Hannibal smiled and brushed his knuckles over soft cheeks, “Sometimes no choice is a choice, too.” As always, Hannibal had made provisions for the middle way. “Steve supported and maintained his responsibilities at a distance - a most gurus do to preserve their sanity. Why should it be any different for you?” Where his arm had been around his waist, he now palmed down Will’s side and let it rest heavy on his thigh.

Hannibal would never be above even the smallest manipulations, in the right circumstance.

"Steve’s dying,” Will said, all very aware that Cal had been setting himself up to take the position. That said, staying here in Peru wouldn’t be out of the question, and no one would think ill of him, especially if he were writing the next rungs of the Ladder.

“I… we could stay here.”

Hannibal softly nosed up the side of Will’s jaw, “As you wish. I made provisions for whichever choice you made.” Hannibal’s choice was clear enough through his actions alone. But he was not unaware of the pain ahead. Where Will had seen and accepted him before, he was now blurred with Cal who would never fully accept or see him. Would never hunt with him.

They would be very much together. And very much alone. The ache would always remain.

Two things were certain about Will and Cal though, and that was their need for Hannibal in some form and fashion. It would never lose it steadiness. Cal would be even more stubborn though in everything.

Will turned his head, nose brushing Hannibal’s, meeting eye-to-eye here. “This is my choice.”

Watery ghosts suddenly found form and the darkness ebbed away to dancing shadows as the candles of his memory palace were relit with a quick, sweeping flame as Hannibal took in Will’s words and gaze - a snapshot of a new life. Two, large steady hands cupped Will’s face as he leaned his forehead against the other’s “Slow.”

While Hannibal was sure, and while Will spoke in earnest, he wanted them  _ all _ to trust desire when it peaked rather than act and live in resentment and regret.

A few deep breaths between them were taken, and Will nodded slowly, understanding that it was going to take time, and it would be slow. They’d live together, and be together, but not  _ be _ together until everything fell into place.  _ If _ everything fell into place. Damage of the mind was often the hardest to repair.

“But definitely wanted…” Hannibal spoke those against Will’s cheek, full lips moving over sensitive flesh as his words sought to brush over and pet the younger man’s soul with just as much heat as he felt coiling in his spine.

It was not quite a kiss, but also not quite a simple whisper. Hannibal pulled Will tight against him now, resting his chin on his head and arms wrapping around as if he were trying to hold all the pieces of this moment together with brute strength.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Not beta'd, but you know that by now.  
> 2) We're starting to weave in more of The Path now as it comes out. (even if this was written before Episode 3)  
> 3) And Lastly, we're sorry. You'll see.

Weeks passed by quickly, Cal doing his work as he visited Steve near daily, leaving little time to stop and think of their conjoined lives and how anything was really working out. Meals were shared with Hannibal, sometimes requests for vegetarian, sometimes fish. Will had stopped attempting to make a move on Hannibal, as Cal was a bit timid on the idea, mainly because of his beliefs, and it left a very strange dynamic in an already broken relationship. Every day was rougher, vivid memories took over, replacing one of Cal’s implanted ones, giving Will back his childhood one tiny moment at time.

One Thursday, his cell phone rang, and he picked it up without much thought; “Cal Roberts.”

“Cal? It’s Jack.”

Cal froze, licking the backside of his teeth as he stilled himself. The memories he had now of what Jack had asked Steve to do to him were vivid, and awful. To keep everything in check, he had to take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, vision turning heated quickly.

“What can I do for you, Jack?”

“Your people tell me you’re still in Peru.”

“They would be right. I am. I’m helping Steve get the last rungs finished before he passes.”

There was a pause on the other end, just a second longer than Cal liked. “Okay, just the same. I think we should talk. See how you’re doing.”

“That is not needed-” Cal started to say, but the knock at the door of his office caused Cal to shut his phone, and open it. Standing there was Jack Crawford, dressed business casual, as always, hands in his pockets.

“It’s  _ rude _ to come uninvited,” Cal muttered, not opening the door any further.

Jack looked him over, very slowly, analyzing him. “You used to welcome me with open arms anytime and anywhere, Cal.”

Taking a deep breath, Cal tried to keep everything under his control, but there was a rage building between both sets of memories that wouldn’t let that quite happen. Jack was big, built strong, trained in hand to hand combat. Will had seen the aftermath of men Jack had taken down, Hannibal included. The problem with Jack was, he never really expected much of Will, always doubting what he would or would not do.

A puppy at best, and not the wolf that he was.

“My mentor is dying and you’re talking etiquette to me now?” Will quipped, and that line alone made Jack’s eyes widen, a truth seeping through.

“How long, Will?”

The brunet slipped his hand under his desk for his hunting knife, a gift from Hannibal, and closed his fist around it. “A month at least. Quite the number you did, Jack. You definitely burned out some of the better parts of me for good.”

Jack’s eyes flitted to the knife, his hands up, unarmed himself. “Will, it was for your own good. Had I let you go on as Will Graham, you’d keep attracting him, you’d keep wanting to find him…”

Will’s jaw set, firmly, his brows knit together as his blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “You took away my choice. You took away my identity. You…  _ destroyed _ me.” Will flung the knife at Jack, and pinned his shoulder to the wall with it, but his girth didn’t quite keep him there, as Jack pulled the knife out.

Will was already out the door, running, needing to get a wider space, to run Jack down a little, wear him out.

“Will!” Jack yelled, his voice booming over the campus, a few followers looking up to see what was going on. Jack, despite bleeding, pick up a jog after Will, into a thicket of trees, where he lost the younger man thoroughly.

“Will…”

Above him, in a tree, Will had a fist sized rock, and  threw it on Jack’s head, knocking him to the ground, dazed, but not unconscious. The dark skinned man dropped the knife and Will softly landed on the ground and picked it up.

“No one will miss you, Jack.” Will kicked him hard in the ribs, over and over, channeling every ounce of pent up rage, from his own past from Cal’s, all of it-- fake or real, he let it course through his veins, pumping like acid as he beat down on Jack, fists and feet, and finally the knife, that he dug straight into his heart.

Will watched Jack’s last breaths, and didn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

***

Bloodied, Will walked back to the house he shared with Hannibal, and simply stood in the doorway.

“Hannibal?”

Hannibal was in the kitchen, as always, when he heard Will call his name. As he strolled in it took all his self control not to cross the room in three quick strides and take him there and then. Images of Will hard against the wall, limbs wrapped around his own bloody and yielding flooded his mind. Images and desires only compounded by Will’s ongoing lustful provocations over the last few weeks tempted the cannibal beyond reason. They stood for a moment - a connection man, Hannibal with his lips parted sucking in the fresh scent of Jack’s blood.

But as exhilarating as the moment was, it was also precarious.  _ Where was the body? Was there a body? Did they need to run?  _ Self preservation and the need to protect overcame lust - for now.

“I am here…” He took a step forward, unable to resist the lure of blood, his amber eyes growing black with blood-lust. “Was someone too curious for their own good?” He arched a brow.

“Yes.” Will nodded back toward covered body just long the drive where he had dragged it through the trees to not be seen. He was breathing hard now, trying to catch his breath, as dead bodies weighed more than a live ones, and Jack was not a light man to start with.

Hannibal looked over his shoulder at the corpse and back again before taking another carefully measured step forward, “We should…” he nodded at the body not trusting any other words that might slip from his tongue in this moment.

Will nodded, memories of Randall Tier ripped through him, proud ones, and ones that made him sick to his stomach at the same time. They’d eaten part of Randall, would they do the same with Jack? Will trudged down the drive to the body and started to drag it back, blood slicked booted feet sliding against the pavement. Hannibal was quick to pick up the slack before anyone saw them. But even with the older man’s help, moving this amount of deadweight was a strain.

As they dragged the body down to the cellar, heavy limbs bouncing on the steps with thick, meaty whacks against stone Hannibal panted out, “Hungry, Will?” Very rarely did he use a name anymore, aware that Will’s personality was in constant flux.

“I could eat,” Will huffed, strained as he hoisted Jack’s remains over the threshold of the house. He’d thrown out all of Jack’s things, down over the cliff, to be washed away, should the FBI come looking.

His people here, the followers, they  wouldn’t say a word.

***

Hannibal was not unaware the setting was romantic. A candle lit table with ocean views and a simple but elegant flower arrangement. The plates were set out in front of Will as Hannibal poured them both a robust red, “Trust me, you will need it.” He smiled almost mischievously.

The steaming red pot was brought out and set up on the small table stand as Hannibal started to serve, “Gardiane - or more simply put, Bull-Stew. On a bed of savory couscous and a green salad.”

Once he had lain a napkin across Will’s lap he took his own seat and raised his glass, “To curiosity.”

Will raised his glass,  a simple smile at Hannibal as he looked the dish over, not entirely sure how he was going to handle this, if he could handle this. Lots of wine.

“Smells… curious, too.”

Hannibal clinked his glass and took a sip with a chuckle tickling his throat, “I also have organic goats cheese for the salad if you are not able to palette this.”

It was true, Jack’s hide was quite bold - heavy and rich on the tongue. But as his full lips wrapped around fine silver the cannibal was quite sure had never tasted anything more delicious. Taste, after all, is guided by presentation and the image of Will appearing in their shared Peruvian home covered head to toe in Jack’s blood was the epitome of perfection.

Will’s appetite for the rude was not as large as Hannibal’s, and never had been, but he tried a bite, and decidedly did not enjoy it as much as the cannibal across from him did. He swallowed it down with some wine, though the burn of alcohol honestly hadn’t settled well either, but for much more personal reasons. As for the meal, and it being meat, he knew it was more of a learned thing, something that had been implanted in him, as once upon a time, Will hadn’t minded so much eating human here and there. It had been tolerable.

Hannibal rose quietly, squeezing Will’s shoulder as he went past and came back with a salad and a glass of whiskey. Nothing more was said as the plate and extra stew was cleared away. Hannibal sat back down and worked on finishing Jack, thoroughly savoring every bite and swallowing down any hint of sadness or disappointment that might be lingering there.

“When I first met you, back in Upstate New York, you spoke about confronting your problems to find resolution and peace. Do you feel unburdened now?” The cannibal was genuinely curious and was never quite sure who would be answering his question.

Will stared at the whiskey glass, an uneven feeling turning over in his stomach,

“Unburdened from a man I hadn’t known I was even burdened with? Maybe. It doesn’t fix anything, but it does feel  _ better _ .” He’d killed, though it was not Will’s first rodeo, it was the the first of real blood of a dead man on Cal’s hands. Somehow, though, it evened it out, and he hardly felt bad for it.

Just as he hardly ever felt bad when things like this went down. It wasn’t as though Jack was even part of the movement, he wouldn’t be missed, just as all the ex followers would never be missed.

“Better is  _ something _ .” Hannibal said before finishing his last mouthful and pushing back in his seat to watch the view, wine glass perched in hand. The city lights were blinking and blurring in and out of view as a fine sea mist rolled in.

Life was very much about accepting what they couldn’t change and shaping that which they could. There was very little Hannibal couldn’t influence to his way of being but the ongoing tension between Will and Cal was something he was very reluctant to push. And yet here they were, blood stained clothes incinerated, a stocked freezer and full bellies. He wondered how Cal’s imprinting would react. Hannibal very much spent his days waiting for damocles sword to drop.

Cal kept very much to himself, not something he was used to doing, coming from a community of people who said what they thought, and unburdened on each other to move on throughout their day, not keeping in their transgressions. It was the only way to see peace, and Cal was definitely not at peace, not after everything they had learned they had been through. Being a false identity was rather wracking, even if they were starting to merge, all of Cal’s religious upbringing was being put forth into Will’s daily routines.

Meditation. Prayer. Yoga even--it honestly made the otherwise cras man a little lighter.

Will took the glass in hand, and sipped the whiskey, the taste taking him back to simpler times in Wolftrap, and muddling his mind with stress and disappointment at the same time.

Hannibal let the silence linger, aware that Will was far from happy here. And while whiskey comforted the ex-agent and reminded him of the comparative simpler times, a hearty meal had provided Hannibal with the same solace. “Do you miss them? Your community?”

“I don’t know what I feel, Hannibal. It’s conflicting. The people are draining, but  _ saving _ them, without blood on my hands all the time, it’s… relieving. It’s  _ powerful _ .” He sighed, looking down at his drink, and then through the rest back in one swallow.

“I can adapt. I can pretend to be a lot of things. Survival,” Will sighed, leaning forward, looking at Hannibal. “But missing people who aren’t really that embedded in my life? Caring about them?”

Yes, Will could do that, too. It was in his nature, it was empathy, but with that came the draining, and unhappiness.

Hannibal smile was hidden as he took another sip, he was more than aware of Will’s ability to pretend and adapt. “Power is an addictive thing.”  Hannibal had saved his share of people sans blood, such was the nature of psychiatry in general. But there had been a time when Will found blood beautiful.

Grief found many forms.

“But it is hard to give yourself over to anything fully when so conflicted.”

“It’s hard to know if God is forgiving. Or if he simply doesn’t care.” The route they found themselves on was clearly wearing into Cal’s beliefs, but Will hadn’t had any before it, and as they started to meld, memories overlapping and washing away false ones, more and more of Will’s ideals presented.

Hannibal started to clear away the plates, “I would suggest his attention and forgiveness is as fickle as is his believers’ faith.” After depositing the dishes in the sink he came back and refilled Will’s glass.

“A constant cycle of coming together and apart again. Much like the tide and the shore.” Hannibal settled back in his seat, second glass in hand. He raised his glass, “To adaption.”

_ Adapt. Evolve. Become. _

The circle had started over, Will a clean slate seen by Jack, and now he was on a path to reclaim it all over again. How Hannibal had the patience for it, he’d never know. Will nodded and raised his glass to that and downed the drink, watching the moon and stars twinkle overhead.

How there was any question about Hannibal’s patience when it came to waiting for Will he wasn’t sure and honestly didn’t care, especially as he watched Will throw back more whiskey than he had in… years, from what he knew. Ever the consummate host he poured another glass for him but with raised brow, “Drinking something away?”

“To sleep. Haven’t been this restless and uneasy in sleep since I was sick,” Will said, but didn’t throw this one back, instead he stared at it, conflicted in finishing it and going to bed, or leaving it and helping Hannibal clean up.

Hannibal hummed, “I had noticed. Not uncommon in amnesiac’s. But I am sure we can find a better cure than whiskey, if you’d like?” Which in all honesty was only going to cause Cal greater conflict in the morning.

Will turned his glass in his hand and gave Hannibal a look, head canted coyly at him. “Oh?”

Hannibal canted his head in return, that was  _ not _ where his line of thought had been moving, not that he was ever far from it when Will was around. However, he wasn’t sure making that kind of decision on the back of Will’s first kill was wise or, entirely unwise.

Will was trying his resolve.

“Didn’t think so,” Will said, and stood, downing the drink, he set the glass down on the table, and went inside the house. “Good night, Hannibal.”

Hannibal pinched his brow, Will knew  _ just _ how well Hannibal dealt with rejection. Another button to push on his failing restraint. He let out a long sigh and caught up to Will with easy strides, taking his hand. He went to speak but he was at a loss to even know what name to use. Where he would normally pluck at a name to manipulate or seduce he would not do that here. Threading his fingers through Will’s he held him from going any further, “How can you know that it would leave you to sleep any easier?”

“I don’t,” Will admitted, head canted up at Hannibal, unmoving now. He sighed, “I just want to know if there’s even a chance, or if we’re simply playing house, Hannibal.”

Hannibal had not turned his world upside down to play house. But he wouldn’t be someone’s regret, either, if he could help it. Certainly not Will’s. He tugged Will that bit closer and brushed a palm over his hip, “Is that what we’re doing, just playing house?” He amber gaze dark with lust for the second time today, and his gaze taking in Will’s features, memorizing them, as if this could be a goodbye - a precipice it always seemed like they were hovering over.

“I don’t mind living with you. It’s comfortable. I know you,” Will said, leaving out the bit about Hannibal knowing him, because he’d been corrected before that it simply wasn’t so anymore. “I’d like more, but I know you’re stopping yourself. Are you always going to stop yourself?”

“No.” The palm he held on Will’s hip, slid around to his back. “But I don’t want a single part of you, or a single kiss, or a single night. I want a  _ life _ .”

“You want the tea cup whole again,” Will swallowed, coming to terms with the fact he might never get there, and that Hannibal would simply lie in wait for something that would never be.

Hannibal chuckled and nosed Will’s face to the side in order to push his lips against the hook of his jaw, “I don’t want the  _ teacup _ whole, I just want it  _ sure _ .” Sure was very different to curious or in need of affection because one had just woken up to a shattered life.

“Why do you think it’s not  _ sure _ ?”

“You’ve hardly been sure in yourself.” And while Hannibal was not against games and manipulation, far from it, he in no way wanted to compromise Will’s ability to find himself.

This went both ways then. Will hardly hardly wanted Hannibal to feel resentment in it either. He could be as sure as possible in the moment, but Hannibal had a point, even if Will hated to admit that.

“As I said, you want the tea cup whole and without leaks. And that’s okay.”

Will was far from understanding Hannibal’s point. Or perhaps they were both missing the mark, just a little.

Hannibal’s lips that hovered over Will’s jaw dragged and open mouthed kiss down Will’s cheek, stopping just at the corner of his lips, “I am quite partial to leaks, now and again.” Hungry fingers pressed harder into trembling flesh.

“Could you be content with broken china?” Will asked, voice dropping into a rough, husky tone as he felt Hannibal’s breath against his mouth, turning into it. They’d been this close before, and they always backed down.

One arm already around his waist, the other pushing up into his hair Hannibal smiled as he tugged him hard against him, purposefully rough, “Content? No.” Holding Will so he couldn’t move he dug his fingers in, leaned over and bent him back causing the younger man to gasp enough to allow the cannibal access to his mouth, tongue delving in greedily. The heat that had been neatly coiled in his core rushing forward with a hot surge of need, breath and pulse ragged.

A groan escaped Will’s mouth, all but eaten by Hannibal’s as their lips crashed together. His fingers grasped the front of Hannibal’s shirt, clutching for anything to keep from floating away, grounding him to the moment as heat blazed through his veins like a forest fire.

Lips sliding over and Will’s Hannibal started to walk him backwards, untucking his shirt as he went, “Is this playing house? Hm?” Powerful fingers scratched at Will’s hips, the scent of blood still fresh on his skin. Once he had him hard up against the wall, he pushed his hand up inside his shirt and grazed blunt nails perilously close to pert nipples as he dipped and bit his neck.

Chest heaving, one arm around Hannibal’s shoulders, Will breathed a “No,” swallowing down his panted breaths in exchange for another groan at the sharp sting of sharp teeth.

“We should stop…” Hannibal breathed the words into his mouth as he started to unbutton his shirt. Although seen so many times before this was  _ different _ , each smooth plane of flesh revealed was a sinful revelation of need. Frustrated with the last few buttons he tore them away and sank to drag the tip of his pointed tongue along the scar at his belly, hands firm on his thighs and only creeping higher, pushing his legs apart.

Will crept a hand into Hannibal’s hair, his own head lolled back on his neck, up against the wall, watching him through half shut eyes, knowing Hannibal was right, they should take it slow, this wasn’t a rushed production, and shouldn’t be. But damn if he could stop now.

“Hannibal-”

His grip grew tighter on Will’s thighs but managed to stop creeping higher as he pressed his forehead to his hip. All he could do was breathe because if he spoke it was only going to be filth in an attempt to tip them both over the edge. His heavy shoulders sagged as a knee lowered to the floor, broad planes of muscle heaving and shaking with the effort of stopping when he could  _ smell _ Will’s desire just  _ there.  _ He swallowed a thick bout of lust as his jaw clenched.

The waves of pleasure were coursing through him, his mind muddled as the alcohol hit him hard with the pumping of his blood and heart, faster and faster, flushed with desire. But, he could feel Hannibal pulling back, mentally more than physically.

“Hannibal?”

He caught his breath, stopping himself before he went too far. Hannibal was more than aware alcohol along with the trauma and thrill of the kill could be conflated with Will’s desire here and as such they needed to tread carefully. He turned his face to look up at Will, chin resting on his bare hip. “Slow. That’s all I ask.”

On behalf of  _ them. _

“Slow,” Will repeated, letting up with his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, offering his hand to bring the cannibal to his feet.

Hannibal shook his head with a smile, placing his hands on the wall either side of Will as he nosed and licked his way up smooth torso - far more cut than it had ever been. He eventually came to stand over Will again, hands and arms flexed either side of his head, keeping him  _ just there _ . Leaning to murmur against his ear, “I want every part of you, broken or whole or cracked or leaking or everything in between. Tell me you understand.” His hand drifted around to toy over the bob of his Adam’s apple playful and threatening all at once as his hips leaned in, to punctuate his point, quite literally.

Neck stretched back just enough, Will nodded; “I understand.” His blue eyes were bright against his flushed face, watching Hannibal, carefully and with lustful intention, but kept his promise of ‘slow’, only one hand against Hannibal’s chest now.

There would be time-- there would be  _ a _ time-- when this happened. Will was in no state to argue that he was mentally capable of any decisions he made, and he would never want Hannibal to feel he had to worry about that, or be resentful.

Hannibal hummed, spinning Will to face the wall and stripping off his shirt, hand tracing the line of his spine as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, lips against his neck, “Good.” he purred walking Will towards the bedroom. But innocent hands turned greedy as he walked Will forward, groping at his chest and hips and thighs until they reached the bed where he lowered Will down, struggling not to go down with him. His every predatory instinct surged forward with the need to lunge and just  _ take _ what was so dearly wanted.

A few deep breaths later he found his centred and rolled Will over. Hannibal bent to take off Will’s shoes, so used to the routine of caring for Will it came as second nature now despite being fully aware the younger man didn’t need his help. But Will let him, groggy now in his lust drunk stupor, he lifted his feet for the boots to come off, and then let his legs drop back. He lifted up to his hips and pulled Hannibal down over him, kissing him again, the least he wanted right now.

Hannibal groaned as Will tugged him down into a sloppy kiss, thankful he at least hadn’t managed to take off his trousers, the feel of their erections rolling against one another almost too much for the cannibal to resist. “Those lips…” Hannibal let a low rumbling growl scratch up the column of his throat as he rolled his hips and rutted slowly, hands tugging at Will’s hair, kissing down into him. The heat he had managed to quell suddenly exploding anew as the barechested man writhed beneath.

“Your hips,” Will moaned, hands on Hannibal’s ass, unable to help the need that was pent up inside him now, pushing them down over his own as he panted against Hannibal’s mouth, worked up all over again, despite what they agreed on in the hall.

That only made Hannibal grind down even harder, “Your hands,” he groaned as he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked Will’s head to the side and bit a line down his neck and over his shoulder and started to kiss and lick his way back up again. After each kiss and each lick and each piston of his hips he promised himself just one more and then he would stop. And then another.

“You’re mouth-” Will was panting harder now, fevered with lust, he reached between them to undo his jeans, too trapped feeling, and needing to feel Hannibal everywhere at once, all over him. “Hannibal.”

He snatched Will’s hands and pinned them above his head, hips still rolling, “Will…” he warned as he leaned over him, fingers digging in deep to the flesh of his forearms as his thigh slid between and forced Will’s legs apart and pressed against his cock.

The younger man groaned, in no position to fight against Hannibal, whether in strength or condition. He gazed wantonly up at him, hips pinned to the bed just the same as his arms, at the mercy of the cannibal.

“That look…” Hannibal growled and in a flash of movement was yanking Will up against him, his lean back to his broad chest as he tugged a blanket over them. Keeping his arms crossed over Will’s chest, locking his arms in place and entangling their legs so the smaller man couldn’t move or lure him into temptation, the cannibal held him captive there. Hot words brushed against Will’s ear, “What would you do to me, if you could, right now?”

The brunet only struggle a moment before he gave up, too foggy headed to try, limbs too loose to push back. He leaned his head against Hannibal’s mouth as the words sank into his skin, no longer able to find friction in any direction.  _ Cal  _ huffed, spurred forward by the alcohol haze;“Strap you down and make you suck me off.”

Hannibal purred, “I do like it when you struggle.” The throb of his cock petted over by the twisting motions.

But as the brunet continued to talk he grew curious at Will’s...dominance. “Oh, is that so? And what would strap me down with?” Hannibal licked the words against his ear not giving in or offering an inch of friction in any direction.

“What’s handy?” Cal asked, his lust blown gaze wandering the darkened room, the only bit of him that could move right now, and he was starting to remember why he hated drinking. “Belts, ropes, tie your hands to the headboard… I’ve wanted to do that since we met.”

Hannibal closed his eyes and for the first time considered prayer as a means of keeping his resolve. “I can assure you, you wouldn’t need to tie me up to get my lips around your cock. And once I had sucked you dry…?”

“Maybe I’d leave you there,  _ wanting _ ,” Cal said with a low hiss to his tone.

“Maybe I’d have other plans for that wicked mouth of yours,” Hannibal snapped loud and sharp. “Or perhaps I wouldn’t take an interest in your horrid mouth at all…”

“You sound angry,” Cal said, only able to move his eyes enough to look at Hannibal, dark in the dim light of the room. “Feel the need to unburden?”

Hannibal’s grip on Will tightened, almost crushing him, “I can assure you my rage is purely carnal and you will know when I need to  _ unburden _ it. Now, tell me, what was it like to finally kiss me.”

“Sinful,” Cal gasped out, but no less heated in his word. He didn’t wriggle to get free, he let the cannibal hold him just  _ so _ , with all the restraint the man could muster. Cal was in no hurry now.

“How terribly unfortunate. All that sin and nowhere to  _ kneel. _ ” Hannibal’s teeth grazed the side of his neck. “And all the things I could do to you here, like this… You would have to pray for a week just to recover.”

Sex itself was not an act of sin, but to lie with a man, well it wasn’t as seen as he would prefer. That was the sin. However, there was no denying every single piece of Will wanted Hannibal, inside and out, physically and mentally. If anything, Hannibal had only proven that no matter who or whatever Will Graham became, they’d find each other and  _ need _ each other.

“But you won’t.”

“Won’t I? If tonight has proven anything you have balanced your chastity in very precarious hands.” Hannibal shifted to lock Will down with one heavy arm over his chest whilst the other skimmed down over his aching cock, a tsk rolling off his tongue and over Will’s jaw. “I wonder if you’ll meditate on  _ that _ tomorrow, alone, in your room…” Hannibal’s hand hovered on narrow hipbones, long fingers stroking just  _ there. _

_   
_ Hannibal had pinned Will with the hope of talking him into sleep.

Best laid plans.

“The shower is a better spot. Less mess, and I can lock the door,” Cal whispered, rolling his hips back just  _ so _ against Hannibal. He wasn’t usually one to be precarious, but the cannibal had brought it out of him, and Cal had hidden it down for so,  _ so  _ long.

“Perhaps I better shower with you, keep an eye on those depraved hands? Would that help? If I watched you? Bathed you? It’s not like I haven’t done it before...” Hannibal rolled, pinning Will under him with his entire weight - utterly immobile now. “Better to be safe than sorry with those wriggling hips of yours.”

The breath was knocked out of Cal, and he gasped in a breath, caught between rough arms and warm bed, heavy body like a blanket over him. He whipped his head back, all he could move at this point, a grimace on his face from being to entrapped.

  
“You’d need to beg for that sort privilege.” 

Hannibal kicked Will’s thighs apart and pressed the line of his cock hard against his ass. At the same time a hand came up and wrapped around Will’s throat. “I would suggested that there is only one of us in a position to beg right now.” Hannibal bit down hard on Will’s naked shoulder, sure to leave a mark.

“I.. don’t… beg,” Cal gasped out, swallowing hard under Hannibal’s hand, his heart rate increasing with a little bit of panic, drunk was never a good gauge of emotions. He tried to remind himself that the things he saw as ghosts and after images in his memories, weren’t as bad as they could seem when brought to the forefront. Hannibal over him like this, a predator, and Cal flat on his stomach, weakened with poor choices in drink, and positioned badly.

Hannibal caught the scent of fear and spiked heart rate and immediately rolled off Will, “Sorry, Will…” he breathed out. The last thing he wanted was for Will to be  _ afraid _ of him in this. He placed a hand over his eyes as he caught his breath, blood rushing back from all the places it shouldn’t have been in the first place. “That was rude of me. I promise it won’t happen again” Hannibal rolled to get up but his erection making the maneuver difficult at best.

Foggy headed, Cal rolled to sitting, in just as much an uncomfortable position as Hannibal, the panic having not left him without desire, if anything the rush was toxic to him. Cal pounced on Hannibal’s back, arms tight around his shoulders, thicker than they used to be, rigorous in daily exercise. His legs wrapped tight around slim hips, and the world spun a little, definitely not at his best.

“Why make promises you won’t keep?” He snarled against Hannibal’s ear, recounting the memories that had flooded to the surface, of all the times Hannibal did Will Graham harm, intentionally, or even the times he harmed those he loved.

Hannibal grunted as Will landed on him like that, his eyes narrowed as he looked at where forearms crossed his chest. He decided against fighting him off; it was too easy with Will drunk plus his own rudeness had brought this on. There was no reason to make it any worse than it already was, despite the damage being done.

“I have never promised you this before now. If there is one thing you know to be true, I keep my promises.” Hannibal’s voice was low but did not waver as he closed his eyes.

He had known that giving into desire too soon would be dangerous but never disastrous.

Will's arms shook as his body was starting to give out, dropping legs first, back to the bed, down to his knees, and hugged Hannibal around the waist, his mind a minefield of forgotten and replaced, the alcohol, had done nothing but make it worse.

“Let’s go to sleep, please,” he muttered, too tired now, he needed a clearer head for tomorrow if they were going to work through this.

Hannibal didn’t say a word about needing to clean up a waiting kitchen rather he lay down in silence beside Will, wrapping the blankets around them both, mindful not to lay a hand on the younger man.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) all the usual, no beta, etc, liberties taken, written before episode 3 and 4.
> 
> 2) song at end was fitting. So uh... we're not crying, you are.

As expected, Will felt awful the next morning. The hangover had done nothing but make things worse, though his headache was far from just dehydration, but a constant  battle to keep up with himself. 

Get up or stay in bed? Make breakfast or go for a run? Clean the kitchen for Hannibal or leave it for another chore?

A run won out, eventually, after a glass of water and toast, and some headache pills.

This proved to be soothing, letting his mind escape within itself, thoughts and memories combining together in a fluid moment of peace.

The soft crunch of gravel and soil underfoot, mixed with the even pacing of his breathing swirled into a heady high.

When he returned, Will was sweaty, glistening, and feeling far, far less troubled, at least for now.

He cleaned the kitchen, devoting his every thought to the idea, as if cleansing himself at the same time, taking care in it, every pot scrubbed, every crevice taken care of until nothing remained untouched.

Coffee was made, two cups set out, and then Will went to shower, stripping off sweaty clothes, left in a pile by the door.

Hannibal scooped up the clothes and placed them in the wash having heard the bustle of activity on Will’s return. The lure of the scent of coffee winding its way through the house was close to irresistible as the cannibal had not slept rather spent the night watching Will breathe and that was it.

There had and was no excuse for his behavior and a simple apology certainly was not enough but he highly doubted Cal would appreciate any of the cannibal’s more  _ grander _ offerings. So, he gave Will the one thing he knew he always appreciated - space.

Once the coffee was brewed he poured a cup - unsure whether Will would take sugar this morning or not, and made his way on to the balcony book in hand. While his eyes scanned the pages not a single word was read. A case of too much to think about and nothing at all.

Will came out half an hour later, with his coffee in hand, dressed the way he liked it, and donning a pair of jeans a simple white t-shirt, and sat next to Hannibal, looking out over their patio view of water. His presence drew Hannibal’s attention who offered a polite nod and a congenial ‘Good morning’, as always he was at a loss to know which name to use so simply didn’t. It would be rude to simply return to reading so he closed his book and folded his hands in his lap, maintaining his view on the blue horizon.

Sighing, Will sipped his coffee, and cradled it in his hands, between his thighs as he leaned forward a bit. “I apologize for goading you, last night.” He’d played just as much a part in what happened as Hannibal had, but the buzz of alcohol in a sustained system had made him brave to the point of humiliating.

Hannibal put his cup to the side for a moment long fingers resting on the table and head canted to look at Will where he was almost hunching over, “There is no need to apologize. You and I are both aware I am more than fond of your goading.” The soft inflection in his tone hinted at a smile but it quickly dropped away.

“I was the one in control of my senses. We had agreed on slow and I crossed the line. The blame lies solely with me and I am quite sure I can not apologize enough - I never want you to fear me in that way.” But some things can’t be undone. “I have made my promise.”

Hannibal had never lost himself in a moment like that before and would not do again but he couldn’t decide if it was because they had refrained too long or not long enough. He was quite sure he would never know, now. “Love is a violent thing. We both know that. But I had no intentions of…” That would be a lie as Hannibal had had every intention of being passionately violent with Will, just not in a way that would  _ terrify _ . “I am sorry,” was all he could really offer. His fingers brushed over the warm china - how things can seem whole and yet not at all. He battled the urge to nudge the cup clear off the table.

“I would not have goaded it from you if I had not wanted it,” Will explained, looking good into his cup of dark, dark coffee. “A moment where history backed up on me, and out of nowhere. Memory is a funny thing.”

Hannibal licked his lips and smoothed one hand over the back of the other mild movements that hinted at a greater agitation. This is exactly what he had been afraid of - the heady rush of emotions and sensation triggering painful memories to the point all desire between them was tainted. The only really primal rush he and Will had ever shared had been violence. And while Cal had his own brand of violent darkness - it was nothing akin to the games he and Will had shared.

But unlike Jack Hannibal would not take Will’s choices away from him.

“Slow, then?” Hannibal would let Will set the pace and keep himself well and truly in check. Although the lure of Will’s writhing body under his would always be a temptation, it was not impossible.  

“Slow,” Will agreed, taking a sip of his coffee, now just warm against his tongue. “I think it's best at this point.” Best until things healed over, until most of the damage in Will's mind was woven back together.

Hannibal leaned back in the chair, both hands resting on the arm rest, tracing the wood as he studied the way the grain ran both smooth and rough under his fingertips, “But you agree now we are not here to  _ play house _ ?” Hannibal couldn’t say whether it would work between them, as much as hope for a future together had been established last night, it had also planted serious seeds of doubt - that Cal would always be untrusting of Hannibal and their past together.

Will never doubted that in time all the memories would meld together into something, but whether he would trust Hannibal inevitably, was something else entirely. He swallowed another gulp of the coffee with a sigh through his nose.

“No. We are not.” That had done the job, a goad to get Hannibal to shed his skin, the way Will knew he could and would.

Hannibal canted his head and smiled fondly before returning to his book and his coffee. He was always more than willing to shed his human veil around Will - because he knew he would be seen and accepted for all he was. Indeed, since they moment they met he had been laying a trail of poems and love letters that left himself bare, all Will had to do was  _ see. _ And in turn, see himself.

But that was no longer that case, the veil had been shed and whoever Will was now, had turned away in fear.

The bluff was still eroding, he could feel it slipping from under his feet even where he sat.

Will felt more shattered than ever, no amount of picking up and glueing back together seemed to make much difference. Hannibal was wary of it, and Will couldn’t blame him.

As Hannibal went back to reading, Will stood, mug in hand, and wandered back into the house.

The second Will’s foot past the threshold Hannibal let out a long sigh, head in hands. Wary, yes. Accepting, yes. But this place of hanging in between was wearing them both down. They both knew what they wanted and were both reaching for it, but just like that night in the icy depths it just kept slipping away and no amount of manipulation or gentle molding under the cannibal’s hands could shift a blank mind. Will would either fully emerge to the surface or not. And Hannibal would love him regardless.

Over the coming weeks Hannibal found himself retreating to his memory palace more and more. And while it was light and warm the clocks had all wound down and stopped - nothing was moving forward or backwards. He could only roam the halls and look at how they had once been - the moment he stepped to engage, the scene would shatter. Meanwhile their domestic life continued very much as it had been. Both consumed by work and keeping busy just trying to keep things together. But Hannibal is waning with the strain of this polite and mundane life. Every night he is consumed by thoughts of tossing Will down and taking him or, being strapped to the bedhead and having his mouth abused as promised. But every night they both do exactly nothing.

One night, Will turned over and curled up against Hannibal, ear to his chest, listening to his heart thud against his ribcage there, fingers curled in the thicket of hair. They’d been very polite, they hardly touched, without worry they might overstep again, both on edge, both unsure. Somewhere, they had fallen off track, simply missing the mark and overthinking.

“Hannibal?” Will whispered.

A gentle heat swept of his flesh as Will rolled into his side and goosebumps scattered across his skin. He wrapped a strong arm around Will’s shoulders and placed a hand on his cheek to keep him there, against his heart. Pressing his lips to dark curls he hummed in response, eyes closing as he bathed in Will’s scent.

Canting his head up, Will brushed his lips against Hannibal’s, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss, palming over the older man’s chest, up his neck, to his chin, guiding their lips together. Hannibal returned the kiss with equal tenderness, only shifting to tilt his head and accommodate Will better, plush lips dragging and teasing over the soft curves of the younger man’s tentative mouth. Where his hand hand been holding his cheek it trailed down to his hip, fingertip toying with the frayed fabric of his t-shirt, occasionally brushing the smooth flesh underneath.

A soft sigh escaped Will’s mouth, tender fingers digging into Hannibal’s shoulder, one leg hiked up over Hannibal’s hip, drawing them ever closer-- closer than they had allowed themselves to be in weeks. Will breathed softly against Hannibal’s mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. Blood thundered in Hannibal’s ears, only Will’s sigh breaking through to be answered by his own groan as the younger wrapped himself around and dared to show a flare of violence. His chest heaved with panting breaths as he held the reigns on his passion, only allowing himself to return Will’s affections with deeper kisses and a press of his tongue, exploring the contours of his mouth. Where he hand been toying with material, his hands now stroked down the smooth planes of Will’s back, drawing him that bit closer - not wanting to let this moment slip away too soon.

It was still slow, just a step up from there normal peck on the cheek, or kiss goodnight. Polite only got them so far, and Will might not have been a man who showed much passion in his past, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any, whereas Cal was known for it, in speech and in religion passion. Here, they melded, throwing in the proverbial towel, and letting go of the pent up tension they refused to get rid of themselves. Even if just making out in bed and rutting like teenagers for a little while.

Will dropped his hand to Hannibal’s hip, caressing the sharp bone there as he pressed their tongues together, soft and slow, searching and feeling. Where Will led, Hannibal followed. Jaws stretching as the play of tongues flowed back and forth between them until he caught that soft pink muscle in a sucking motion, one hand holding Will’s head in place as his head bobbed slightly to chase the wet, wriggling muscle. Hot fingers skimmed down Will’s spine and teased across the top of his ass before resting over narrow hip bone just the same, the pad of his thumb slowly inching down the line there.

“Hannibal-” Will groaned out, softly, against the other man’s mouth, licking the contours of his mouth, then his teeth to feel the sharpness there, hips moving into his touch, hitching up a little more, pressing passed boundaries, just that little bit.

A violent shudder rolled  through Hannibal as their hips touch, ragged breaths coming quick and fast as he gripped Will’s hip, pulling him closer again until he can feel the grind of his cock against his own. Eyes rolling behind closed lids he grazed sharp canines down the length of Will’s tongue. The bulk of his muscle across chest, shoulders and right down to his calves flex to stop himself from rutting up. Will felt Hannibal tense, and pulled back, instead just panting against his mouth, leg loose now over his hip, watching him with intense, lust blown eyes.

“Don’t...” Hannibal would not press himself on Will but he didn’t want him to pull back so soon, honey-blood eyes beseeching as hands cupped his jaw.

“I'm here,” Will whispered, staying close as their eyes locked, and their lips brushed, more tender than anything now.

Hannibal nodded as he felt the flames of passion die to a simmer - a pit of ache opening in his gut despite knowing it was for the best. Gazes locked Hannibal smoothed an arm under Will to loop both of his arms around him and cradle him just so, “I know.” Tender words brushed over Will’s lips.

Will swallowed, feeling everything start to burn out slowly, and felt the cold start to take over where heat was before. He wondered if it would ever get  _ easy. _ He pressed their heads together gently. Maybe they needed time apart to figure it out.

While Hannibal might not have the gift of empathy the way Will did, he was a keen observer of human behaviour. “That was good bye, wasn’t, Will?” His voice neither accusing or cold. Just, accepting.

“Not forever,” Will whispered, watching Hannibal's eyes in the moonlight. “I need to check on the community. We need time to figure this out.”

Hannibal made no show of hiding his emotions as his eyes grew wet and his lips parted to drew in shallow breaths over sharp teeth. He nodded, “Of course. It is in our best interests.” Unsure if he was agreeing or trying to convince himself. He would be naive to think that there was a chance that Will might choose to stay after...everything.

It was easy to tell Hannibal did not believe him, that the cannibal would do anything to keep Will at his side and away from everyone else. It was in Will to stay, but it was also in him to do what he had to do to save people, often from himself.

“Come with me.”

Hannibal searched Will’s face, tracing every line - memorizing it for his memory palace. When Will asked him to come he was quite sure this would be their last night together. But then, absence had always had a pleasant affect on Will. It was a risk either way.

Kissing Will’s forehead Hannibal simply whispered, “Come back to me.” He would wait, as he always did and always would.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Hannibal checked the clock and watched the flight details on the laptop in his office. While he appeared relaxed, Winston wined and nudged his leg sensing his deep agitation. His fingers drummed the desk before picking up the phone Will had left for him with just the one number programmed in:  _ I trust you have arrived safely? _ He slowly lowered the phone and eased back in his chair unsure if this ongoing contact was going to make things easier or harder. He started at the blank screen for a minute, hand in Winston’s fur before returning to his work.

Will had barely arrived back at the compound, less put together than usual, and the looks he garnered were more than unsettling, but most were worried glances. He offered uneasy smiles to a few, and when his phone chimed, he sighed with relief. A distraction. As he made his walk back toward his office, he smiled at his phone, and beat out a reply:  _ I’m still standing. _

Hannibal reached for the phone the second it beeped. He nodded approval thinking that he would be concerned if Will was lying down so soon. However, wanting to provide Will with the space he needed he refrained from texting back. But time wore thin as the hours past and Hannibal worked at remaining distracted however, his found his gaze repeatedly drawn back to the empty screen. He glanced once at Winston who appeared to be as restless as he felt.  _ Winston misses you. _

Will tried not to worry about the time between texts, he was supposed to be busy, and he was, talking to a few people, whom he knew by name, even if part of him didn’t even know them. Will would always be able to empathize, and so he did, helping where he could. He was in an 10R meeting when his phone jingled again, and he apologized as he looked at it, and had to cover his mouth with one hand as a smile spread over his lips. _ Winston misses me, does he? No one else? _

Hannibal was preparing himself a light dinner when the phone vibrated in his pocket. He wiped his hands on the towel and smiled as he read the text. Will always needed to  _ hear _ it:  _ Even at this distance? Horrid. There may be another who eagerly anticipates your return to him. _

He slid the phone back in his pocket and sighed as he served up his single portion. He took his meal out to eat on the terrace but nothing tasted, felt, or looked quite the same without Will here and the view was nowhere near as beautiful without someone to share it with.

“Who is that?” Sarah asked as Cal checked his phone leaving the building, back to his office, a smile on his face.

“A friend,” Cal said, pocketing his phone for now as Sarah kept pace with him. He looked at her expectantly, and she mirrored his emotions, one brow raised.

“A friend?”

Cal nodded. “Something you needed, Sarah?”

“No…” she shook her head thoughtfully, looking at him like he was someone else entirely. “You can… unburden on me, you know, if you needed to. I know you think you’re above having to do that sometimes but…” She shrugged her slim shoulders and Cal touched one, thoughtfully.

“Thank you. I will if I feel the need.” Cal offered her a smile and left her standing there as he entered his office and shut the door, locking it. He set everything out on his desk before easing into the chair, and leaning back.

He thumbed the passcode into his phone, looking at the text again.

_ I’ve only been gone a day, _ he replied.

Hannibal noted the time between texts and although stared at the words a long while, Will’s voice ringing in his ears, he left it be as he fed Winston and tidied up. Settling down by the fire, book in hand he took the phone out again:  _ The polite response would be ‘I miss you too.’ And a day is still long enough for it to be horrid. _

Cal had showered and flopped into bed for the evening when he did not hear from Hannibal again. His barely closed when the phone chimed again, and he looked at it, with a grunt, and then hit the call back button instead of typing out a reply.

Hannibal smiled and set his book aside, long legs crossed over in front of the flames, “And someone was just telling me it had only been a day…”

“I was teasing. A little,” Cal said, sleep warm in his voice as he murmured into the phone, curled up on one side, usually where Hannibal might be, but his bed was a small twin, barely big enough even for him.

Hannibal hummed, “A little? You sound tired.” He purred in a purposefully warm tone as he crossed his arms loosely over his chest and sank back into the chair, watching the coals.

Will’s warm chuckle seeped through, turning over on his back, shifting in the bed, staring at the ceiling. “It’s been a hell of a day. Lots of new people coming in from the interviews I did. It’s a good thing, but precautions are needed.”

Hannibal’s brow arched as he heard the sound of bedsprings groaning. “All that terrible charisma of yours, when  _ will _ it stop getting you in trouble? I would suggest keeping an eye out for devilishly handsome by mysterious authors. I hear they can cause no end of…burden, for eager young men.”

“I’m certain I’ve learned my lesson the first time about those handsome authors,” the younger man murmured into the phone, sighing as he settled back into the bed, but it was hard to get used to something less comfortable than his bed back home in Peru with Hannibal.

"Tell me, what lesson was that? Since you’re finding it so awfully difficult to get comfortable without one by your side.” Even at this distance Hannibal could hear Will tossing and turning.  He closed his eyes with another hum, imagining Will back in that terrible little hut and that terrible little cot. It still didn’t stop him imagining that terrible little body.

“Never trust one,” Cal huffed, crossing his feet at the ankles, trying not to move around so much that Hannibal could hear, but the bed was horribly lumpy. “I think he drugged me a few times…”

Hannibal was grinning now, Will’s frustration almost as endearing as his coyness. “More than a few and only fair considering you left him alone and thoroughly intoxicated. Feeling the need to  _ unburden  _ yourself, Cal?” He let the ‘L’ roll out with a long hot lick.

Impure thoughts of Hannibal and what he could do with that tongue exactly invaded Cal’s mind, making the brunet have to try extra hard to resist the urge to palm down against his groin. He had control, he had  _ complete _ control.

“Nothing to unburned about  _ yet, _ Doctor Lecter.”

“Yet? Doctor Lecter?” A tsk rolled off his tongue with another lick. “Sounds like you’re trying to get a rise out of me. I can assure you, it is too late for that.” Hannibal’s pants had grown uncomfortable from the moment the first bedspring gave way under Will’s writhing body.

“Perhaps it is  _ you _ that needs to unburden,” Cal offered, one arm over his eyes, trying hard to burn the idea of Hannibal hard under him, strapped to the bed, and willing to have his mouth fucked, right out of his mind, but his thoughts just wouldn’t leave it alone. He’d really thought time away would recenter him.

“Are you offering to be my priest? Would you have me on my knees…or strapped to a bed head?” Hannibal breathed the words out in a low heavily accented tone before he shifted the phone to rest on his thigh as he let the zipper rip down loud and slow. Picking up the phone again he perched it between his cheek and shoulder leaving his hands free.

“That’s not technically my title, but if you were--” Cal was cut short by the noise, choking back a groan of his own, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he bit into his cheek. “You’re not seriously…”

Hannibal’s breath quickened to a pant at the sound of Will’s groan. He felt no need for shame around sexuality – it was perfectly natural and healthy. “Unburden me.” His tone was warm, full and final as he lifted up his own silk boxers, long fingers tracing the length of his cock down to his balls as he let slip a long sigh.

Over active imagination or not, it wasn’t hard for Cal to imagine just exactly what Hannibal was doing. “Long and slow, Hannibal. What are  _ you _ thinking about?”

Hannibal licked over his hand and stroked long and slow, making sure Will could hear every slick, fleshy sound. His hips lifted as his hand curled around the weight of his cock, his foreskin sliding with every stroke. “My thoughts are firmly fixated on eager young men with very impure thoughts, strapping me to their bed-head and fucking my mouth. Nothing slow but I expect very long. I believe I am yet to mention I don’t have a gag reflex. Tell me, Cal, what are you thinking about?” His voice was growing steadily ragged as he swallowed a thick bout of lust.

“A mass of impure thoughts,” Cal whispered, licking his bottom lip, having yet even dipped his hand into his pants to relieve any pressure. He’d sustained for weeks, somehow, and God knew here was not the place, nor the time…

“If I were struck down by lightning right now, it’d be all your fault.”

Hannibal paused mid stroke. “I am making you uncomfortable.” He was not speaking in innuendos now as he grew increasingly aware that the tables had shifted and that the will to act was firmly his own. He released his cock and took the phone in hand. “I would rather you come home safely than be struck by anything in between.”

Cal let out a shaky breath, swallowing down his own lusty endeavours. “Be it The Light’s will to get me back home.” Home, of course, now was not here, in the compound, it was, inevitably with Hannibal.

A thought that was hard to swallow, and yet perfectly acceptable all at once.

Just as Hannibal had expected, less than a day and Will already sounded more like Cal than himself. The only will that would see Will return was his own.

“Good night,  _ Mylimasis _ .” Hannibal clicked the phone off and set it aside. The zipper was silent as he did up his pants and spent a many great hours contemplating their call and their future as the fire burnt down to nothing but ash.

Cal decided to turn his phone off for the night after that, and shoved it into a drawer as not to be distracted later, or from sleep, and finally dozed off an hour in, restless and and lonely, but was sure it was all very deserving considering.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) No beta.  
> 2) Things get a little tricky here writing wise as Will and Cal are the same person, but often one side is stronger than the other or more dominant. Sort of like a split personality, but not? Watch for the writing cues, aka name change up.  
> 3) Written way back just after this episode aired, so keep that in mind.

Over the coming weeks Hannibal kept his texts polite and to a minimum, giving Will the space he needed to think things through and if everything went to plan, reacquaint himself with that  _ ache _ . He also expected Cal would find that there is no going home again. Not when the chaotic violence of love smashes through everything you  _ believed _ to be true.

But like all good things, the truth needed time to hatch. Hannibal was a patient man, no matter the wanting and sadness that might churn in his gut and the nagging distraction of a deathly silent cell phone.

Texts were sparse on Cal’s end, busy visiting homes, recruiting, preaching, and praying. No time to think about devil at his back, no matter how much he wanted to. That was, until the FBI showed up asking questions. Cal took a moment to send off a text:  _ FBI are poking around, and not about the movement. _

Hannibal, as always, read the text immediately:   _ Thank you. Destroy your phone and the sim card. I’ll make contact again soon. Take care.  _ Hannibal would need to do the same as well as take Winston for a holiday for a while. Luckily the house was relatively quick to clean up, no evidence in need of destruction. The need to kill purged from the cannibal’s veins the moment Will walked out the door.

Cal stared at the phone for a long moment before he took the sim card out and smashed it with a hammer and then flushed it. He did the same to the phone, crushing it into pieces and then threw into the fireplace.

The silence of no connection to Hannibal whatsoever was deafening, like anything Cal had ever experienced before. Usually the quiet was welcomed, and now he just felt the abiding chill of the unknown.

This was not an absence by choice or with manipulative purpose and the silence weighed heavy on Hannibal. Time distorted itself into a long, drawn out ache that nagged at him - the tick of the second hand on his silver wrist watch echoed loudly in his mind no matter where he went or what he did. But still, he did not take it off.

It was exactly two weeks later on a rainy afternoon in Paris when Hannibal purchased a burner and phoned the compound. He left a message for Cal Roberts to text Mylimasis on the number provided. He positioned himself in an open air bar, Winston by his side with a clear view across the Seine to keep an eye out for the police. Although he wanted to trust in Will there was every chance that last text was Cal giving Hannibal a head start.

He looked over his shoulder again, checking the back exit was still clear as he tapped the knife and spare passport at his hip. Regardless the circumstance Hannibal still took advantage of the fine wines here. Although Peru had appealing views, it was not Europe. He had always hoped to show Will Florence.

The message was delivered and Cal texted when he had a moment, his heart skipping. He had not tipped the FBI off, as it was the movement had enough to cover up, they did not need to have Hannibal Lecter involved, nor a murder from one of their most highest up leaders.

_ Been a while. Started to worry about you. _

Hannibal sat back and stared at the phone, allowing the wine to linger on his tongue and heat his blood in place of Will’s mouth. He swallowed and let out a long sigh as he texted back:  _ Better safe than sorry. Winston still misses you.  _ Hannibal put the phone down but never took his eyes off the screen as he scratched Winston’s head.

Cal smiled at the phone, biting the inside of his lip, thoughtfully. Time had taken his toll, but a hole still remained, a soft spot dug by Hannibal Lecter.  _ I miss you, too. And Winston, of course. _

Hannibal took a long sip of wine and dialed. “Winston wanted to say he missed you in person.” He held his breath waiting to hear Will speak, his eyes closing as he listened to him breathe.

“This is hardly in person, But I’ll take it,” Cal said, voice low, as he walked through the roads of the compound, between meetings for now.

Hannibal sighed at the sound of Will’s voice, a smile painting itself across the curve of his lips, “Hm, your voice…” He purred, letting that hang between them, unable to resist passing comment on how good it was to hear that familiar drawl. Although it had been flattened by his time back at the compound Hannibal could still hear it ghosting behind his word. “In person would indeed be far preferable. I do hope we can remedy this distance soon. The city of love is not quite the same without, mon amour. How have you been?” Hannibal took another sip of wine to try and quell the creeping cold left Will’s absence.

“You're in Paris?” Cal asked, voice a hushed tone now, but smiling as he ducked his head, slipping inside his office. “Busy.” The dorms had been a huge issue, behind on a lot of things, the roofs weren’t even up yet. “Missing you…”

"I am. The most dog friendly city in Europe. Winston has developed a taste for puppachinos." And rude Parisians - he left that out, for now. 

  
"That's twice you've said you've missed me. Careful, I might start to believe you, horrid boy." Hannibal words teased with heartfelt warmth but he was starting to wonder if this life apart and incessant ache were now just permanent arrangements.

“I’ll try to keep my tongue in check,” Cal said, cheeky, his tone a little more even and relaxed now that he was in the privacy of his bunk, doors locked and curtains closed.

Hannibal dragged a pointed tongue across his lip and closed his eyes as he paced his breathing to not say something utterly obscene. “Pity. Such a waste of a perfectly pretty tongue,” was all he purred down the line.

Cal bit his own tongue, biting back a remark, all wants to do so were there, but he hated to lead the doctor on, but it was all too easy to fall into a quip match, too comfortable sometimes. Cal watched through the crack in the curtain as people walked by, unaware of him inside his holed up little office.

“How long are you staying in Paris?” He asked, intentionally changing the subject, but no less disinterested in Hannibal himself.

“It is probably safer we don’t discuss that much detail.” Hannibal was protecting himself as much as Cal now. He was aware that the FBI would not be above brainwashing information out of him if they suspected anything.

Cal let out a long audible sigh through his nose, jaw shifting. He wasn’t angry, he was upset. Disappointed maybe, but this was the life they had chosen. Had he stayed with Hannibal, the FBI would have found it more suspicious that Cal never returned to the compound. Appearances had to be kept up.

“Right, of course.”

“How long will you be staying in Upstate New York?” Hannibal was genuinely curious if Cal had a timeline or if it was indefinite, for now. He let his gaze drop to Winston where he sat with ears pricked up and head tilting back and forth - he could hear Will. The cannibal closed his eyes and let his jaw drop a little to allow his tongue roll with a flick of sadness. Somehow the phone calls always made the missing, the distance, the ache all that much more acute.

“I have to return to Peru soon to see about Steve’s final details. He has no one else,” Cal said, sliding that bit of information in there, not telling Hannibal out loud that he was edging his way into being  _ the _ leader of the movement.

Hannibal didn’t need to be told outright, he kept a very close eye on all things related to Meyerism. “I see.”

He needed a moment to process that information. Paris was a difficult city to feel alone in, he made the decision to move on sooner rather than later. “Do let me know if I can help in any way.” Steve was not the only one alone and without support. Hannibal knew better than anyone how lonely it was at the apex of things.

“Too risky to ask you to meet me there?”

Vulnerability was not something Cal liked to show, and often it was to Sarah, but these days Sarah had her own issues, and grieving with her or anyone seemed useless. He needed Hannibal, but if the timing wasn’t right, if it was too soon, things might go awry.

“There is no risk I would not take. I will be there when you arrive.” Where Cal might worry that Hannibal wouldn’t risk himself, Will knew better.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Cal said, a smile in his voice. “I’ll see you then.”

“You shall. But once again, sadly, I must ask that you destroy this phone you are speaking on.” Hannibal would be doing the same. But he would hardly need it in the air. “Take care, Mylimasis.” With that, the phone clicked off and was destroyed. Hannibal burnt what little he had with him and headed for the airport.

***

Cal destroyed his second phone, his only connection to Hannibal. On burning this one up too, his office phone rung, and he looked at it, let it ring again, and then walked over to pick it up.

"Cal Roberts," he said, assured, into the receiver, listening to the other end, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, yes. No. Thank you. I'll be over in a bit."

***

Cal rolled up to the apartment building, looking at the levels and levels of older model homes, and then entered the complex, taking the stairs two at a time up to his mother's apartment. She'd lived there for years, he could remember visiting her as a young boy, or at least, he thought he could, it was hard to say now what was real and what wasn't.

Cal closed his eyes before knocking on the door, centering himself, and when the door opened, the long haired, unkempt brunette looked at him with a little smile.

"They called you did they?"

"They want to kick you out, ma," Cal said, slipping inside the disgustingly dirty apartment, hands shoved into his pockets.

Brenda Roberts moved around him, grabbing the bottle whiskey from the table. Nothing had changed.

"Then tell them no."

"I can't do that." He started to clean up, bottles and paper plates, empty microwave containers, stuffed into a garbage bag, all while his 'mother' did her share to clean up by downing the rest of a bottle of alcohol.

Even if she was not his real mother, the memories were horribly real, and centered at the binge drinking and the alcohol, the fights his parents had, being taken away from her, the verbal abuse on both ends, the enabling...

"Let me find you somewhere better, where you'll be taken care of-" Cal started to say, but his mother scoffed at him, rolling her eyes the way Will so often would.

"An old person's home?" She snarled it and then looked at Cal, really looked at him, and held out her hands, and he let go of the bag of garbage, giving in. "Quiet about all that for right now, Calvin. C'mere."

Cal went, and he sat down next to her, smelling the stench of alcohol and decay on her breath, but said nothing.

"He came back to me. You can, too."

A long moment went by and Cal stood again, shaking his head. He couldn't give her false hopes for something that would never be, not unless she really wanted to change, and he knew, she never would.

Cal went out to get them food, bringing back vegetarian, to which she scoff even more at and let sit, while Cal ate, silent between them was stifling. He wanted to ask her why she lied, why she was going on with this charade of Cal Roberts, but in her constant drunken state, he knew he'd never get a real answer.

"Have a drink with me," she said, pouring one up, and Cal looked at it, remembering how very out of control he got the last time, how Will drank enough to make them dumb, how he'd drank far worse than that and done  even worse.

"No, ma."

"I'll go look at one of those fancy assisted living places if you have just one drink with me, Please?" she smiled at him, a twinkle in her eyes. "Please."

"I can't do that and it's horrible that you would ask me to." Cal really looked at her, astonished that she had no morals at all, that she really didn't see the good he had done for himself here.

"Fine," she said, "I'll stay here."

"You wanna die on the street?"

"I want to die here, in my own home."

Cal watched his mother, debating with himself, with every part of him that didn't agree with any of this, but reasoned.

"One drink," he said, removing his eye pendant necklace, and stuffed it into his pocket.

She slid the glass to him, and he drank it down. And then another, and another...

They ended up taking a taxi to the facility, neither one able to drive. The facility was beautiful, A woman showed them around, told them the schedule, as Cal and Brenda Roberts walked in a hazy daze of alcohol filled bliss. At least for the moment.

"... Moonlight Tai Chi in the evening..."

"Tai Chi, ma, sounds lovely," Cal said, smiling as looked around at the all the elderly living there, aware that his mother wasn't quite this old, or at least, she never seemed to be.

"What about her?" Brenda asked, looking at a lady who had to be spoon fed. "She ain't doin' any Tai Chi."

"Mother-"

"She ain't buying any green bananas either," Cal's mother quipped, to which Cal actually laughed, stifling it down as the woman leading them about gave him a look, but he couldn't help the snort, and his mother smiled at him.

Back at the office to fill out paper work, they agreed on a private apartment for his mother, who started in on a drunken rampage, about Cal, and the movement being a cult.

"If anyone's demented it's my son, the cult leader," she said, spitefully, clear she did not want to be here, to live here, and was pushing every button Cal had.

"We're a spiritual movement-"

"That kidnapped a man, gave him a new life, new memories-" Brenda was rambling on, ".. and here you are, still with that quack, how haven't you realized it all yet, how do you not know..."

"Don't-don't call him that..."

Brenda started to goad and goad, making quacking noises, her own drunken instability was showing, and the woman in the room with them looked at Cal as he started to slowly unravel.

"Make that noise one more time, Mother-"

And she did.

"-I'LL LET YOU DIE LIKE A FUCKING DOG ON THE STREETS!" Cal exploded, he hadn't meant it, and he pushed his mother, getting in to her face, everything a blur at once. "BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU DESERVE FOR LETTING THEM DO THIS TO ME!"

"Mister Roberts, please..."

Cal stepped back, hands shaking, and nodded, stepping out of the room, looking for a cell phone in his pocket that he didn’t even have.

Cal left the facility and made his way down to a bar, where he fit in even less, but slid up to the bar anyway, and drank, and drank, until he couldn’t even see straight.

“Hey, ain’t you that cult guy from the telly?” A man asked, and Cal turned to look at him, taking in his larger form, bearded, clad in all leather.

“Yeah. That’s me.” The words slurred out.

“Pure little thing like you in a bar like this? Must not be so great in your little hippie world, huh, little man?”

Cal’s eyes glazed over, darkly, and he stood, still shorter than the man, but his presence was larger suddenly, like a wolf raising its hackles, hair’s on end. Growling and snarling-- a warning to person nearest to think twice.   
  
“Think you’re a big man-”

The other man didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence before Cal was on him, punch after punch, kicking and clawing, beating and biting until red and blue lights flashed in his eye sight, and he struggled against hands and metal.

 

***

Hannibal prepared for Will’s homecoming. The fire was roaring, coffee on and an all  _ vegetarian _ organic dinner prepared. The hours ticked by. He checked the computer twice before phoning the airport to confirm Will’s plane had indeed landed.

“Thank you.” Hannibal slowly put the receiver down with a click and switched off the stove. The plane had landed just fine – without Will.

Hannibal didn’t move or breathe. He was not known for taking rejection well but he had  _ promised _ Will there would be no retribution if he chose differently this time. There was some damage that cannot be undone, and that was that.

There was a creak of boards on the deck and his head snapped around but Hannibal shook the thought away. It wasn’t a set up. If the FBI had been tipped off he would be in custody already. No, this was discrete rejection. Or in shorter terms: cowardice.

Hannibal heaved a deep sigh as he cleaned up the kitchen. The food remained untouched as he went to bed early not wishing to be awake through this. But sleep eluded him as he stared at the empty side of the bed. He allowed Winston to occupy Will’s side of the bed now. He whined if he didn’t.

But as he stared at the pristine pillow glowing with the eerie blue of night something didn’t sit right.

Neither Will nor Cal were a coward at heart, neither had had any problem with rejecting the cannibal, even when they knew their lives might very well be at risk.

Risk. Certainly something the cannibal was not adverse to. And he had kept a close enough watch on the compound to make it a calculated risk.

Rather than sleep Hannibal started packing and made contact for fresh papers to be relieved in the morning. Jet lag was wearing. Heartbreak was more so.

***

“Cell three.” The door buzzed open.

“Thank you,” the thick, long drawl of a New Orleans accent fell off the man’s tongue as he tipped his hat down almost far enough to meet his upturned collar.

Bail had been set at $100,000. My how the police were so very proud of themselves knowing that the compound wouldn’t have that kind of money to bail out their leader, Cal Roberts. And my how the cannibal had enjoyed laying out the bail money in full, unmarked bills of course.

“Free to go, Roberts. Wouldn’t be going far.” The cop was curt and full of false bravado as his keys clanged against the lock and the cell door opened with a hollow bang.

Hannibal nodded once to Cal, his posture and blood-honey gaze enough to give his identity away. “We’ll keep an eye on him, officer.” Hannibal was masquerading as another devotee so could make no show of how this image of Will, curled up in his cell, shaking and in obvious pain – inside and out, enraged him beyond all measure.

“Come,” Hannibal held out a gloved hand. “Take my hand.”

It had been headline news across the papers when Hannibal landed and he didn’t think twice about taking immediate advantage of the situation.

The cops had given Cal a terrible time. He was in on assault charges of not just the man at the bar, but Mary's father as well, as that had caught up to him, too. 

Cal stared at Hannibal and lifted a shaky hand to take his gloved one, unsteady on his feet, still, weak from hangover. He said nothing, but walked out in silence with Hannibal.

Hannibal wrapped an arm around his waist taking most of his weight as he helped him towards the car. Leaning him against the side door he opened the passenger side and guided him in, closing the door after him. Once inside he put the heater on and passed him some water and painkillers. Sadly, they had to make this choice quickly.

“Taking you back to the compound will raise less suspicions however, as you understand, I can not stay with you there. But you are also welcome to stay with me. The choice is yours.” He brushed his knuckles down the side of Will’s face, taking in the damage but saying nothing for now. He would find the offender easily enough.

“Where are you staying?” Cal asked, having taken a few blows more than he realized, face swollen. He took the pills, not complaining.

“I came straight from the airport but I have a small house on the Hudson, Upper Nyack on hold. It is private. Peaceful. Winston likes the space.” Hannibal revved the engine noting the cops were still watching.

“Let's go there,” Cal said, not wanting, and unable, to face the movement just yet. He'd worked  _ hard _ to kick his drinking problem.

Hannibal swung the car out of the lot and turned towards Nyack as he placed a gentle hand on Will’s thigh. “Shall we attempt to get decent coffee on the way?”

The very thought of coffee turned his stomach inside out, and Cal shook his head. “Breakfast.” Even if it was nearing evening by now, over a day later in the tank, it’d taken that long to work the drunk off.

Hannibal squeezed his thigh once and placed both hands back on the wheel. “Whatever you need. I will get us some fresh bread and fruit.” And some more painkillers, thought the cannibal as he looked at the dark bruises starting to take the place of swelling.

Once they arrived Hannibal opened the car-door for Cal and helped him stand. Winston was eager but managed to resist jumping all over Will as he shook under the cannibal’s grip. There was a deep-set lounge near the fire and a neat pile of throws and pillows. He set Will up with some water as he made toast and built a fire. The thick forest view outside shifted from shades of deep green to an ocean of shimmering gold under the light of the setting sun.

Once the house was warm and Will was beginning to nibble on the food provided Hannibal moved to sit beside him, “May I?” Hannibal nodded to his injuries. It was clear he had not had adequate medical attention.

Cal nodded, bringing up toast his mouth to nibble on, his fingers swollen from the beats he got in on the other man, as he was sure the other looked far worse than he did. “Yes.”

Hannibal was sure to keep his demeanor warm but clinical as he worked, quite sure Will didn’t need any extra stress at this time. He checked for concussion and fractures. It appeared to be all soft tissue damage. He left briefly to get a small bowl of water and his medical kit. “No needles, I promise.” He spoke softly as he started to clean splits of skin on Will’s face and plaster them over before taking his hand and washing down the dirt and grime there with tender barely there motions. He was silent throughout. Will would talk if he wanted to. The cannibal was quite sure he was sick of being asked if he needed to unburden.

“My… mother almost burnt her apartment down with a grease fire,” Cal began, talking very slowly as he nursed the headache that would not let up, watching Hannibal care for him. “I went to check on her, I had time.”

Now was not the time to debate the fact that Will’s mother had left a long time ago although Hannibal was curious who this woman masquerading Cal’s mother was. He wrapped a bandage around the knuckles on Will’s right hand before starting work on the left. “I’ll need you to tell me if and when you are in pain. It is much easier to stay on top of it and manage it if it doesn’t get a chance to spike. I assume your mother survived but also was not the one on the receiving end of these?” Hannibal indicated to Will’s bloodied knuckles.

“Head hurts,” Cal murmured, letting Hannibal care for him, as no one else would, not right now, not ever likely. “She’s fine. I left her in the care facility I’d taken her to to.” He let go of a heavy sigh. “She only went because I had a drink with her…. And then another and another…”

“Hush. No need to explain.” At least not now. Hannibal finished up and offered Will two more pills, “Anti-inflammatories that may also help with your head.” He dropped them into his outstretched palm and then maneuvered himself so he was leaning against the cushioned arm of the sofa and offered Will a place to curl against him, if he wanted.

Cal took the pills, and then curled up next to Hannibal, hand resting against his thigh as Winston came and curled up behind Cal’s knees, effectively keeping him warm.

“I hadn’t meant to miss the flight.”

Hannibal caught him in a careful embrace, not wanting to put pressure on the wounds but he still held his head against his heart and settled his chin on chocolate curls. “I know.” He let the silence hold them for a while, “I’ve missed you, this, us…” Soft words murmured against soft curls.

Sliding his hand up and down Hannibal’s thigh, Cal closed his eyes, listening to the other man’s accent as he spoke, taking the words to heart. Cal had never thought someone would love him, would want him around this much. Would come all this way to save him, to care for him. Maybe people might have tried, but many people saw as Sarah had, and gave up.

Molly had tried; but she saw the beast for what it was at the very end of the tunnel.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Cal said, honest and frank, canting his head up to look at Hannibal, his own hair longer now after months of letting it go, no longer clean cut.

Hannibal dipped down and brushed the lightest of kisses over Will’s lips, “I don’t think separation becomes either of us.” He drew back, gaze still lost in sea-blue as his fingers toyed with the curls as his nape.

“What makes you say that?” Cal asked, a hint of a smile pressed against Hannibal’s mouth as they shared breath, up close, staying as entwined as they could get for the moment.

“Horrid.” Hannibal purred with a chuckle and kissed him again, longer this time but far from urgent. “Delightfully, wonderfully, horrid boy.”

The sting against cut lips was welcomed, as Cal kissed Hannibal back, hand sliding up and around the back of his neck, pulling him into a deeper, slower kiss, feeling his heart race against his ribcage, head pounding.

A low feral sound clawed its way up Hannibal’s throat as he caught the taste of Will’s blood, their tongues sliding and winding in slow languid motions. A heat swept over his skin and blood rushed in his ears as breath raced back and forth between them. Hungry hands slid down to settle on narrow hips as he shifted to pull the brunet over him, his fingers tracing the v of his hips where his shirt fell away from the hem of his trousers.

Kissing Hannibal was like instant pain relief, as Cal started to feel a pleasant numbness in his aching head, replaced with a bout of pleasurable heated spikes of lust as straddled the doctor’s lap, hand against his heart, while the other played through his silken grey hair. Cal had missed the other man  _ far _ more than he’d anticipating or even admitted to himself.

Hannibal’s heart met Will’s touch with a thunderous beat whilst groans of want were gifted into their fevered kisses. Skilled fingers gently undid the buttons of his shirt. Warm palms smoothed up and down lean ribs and tapered waist as the cannibal took the wild liberty of licking over one pert nipple, pausing to let his tongue swirl around it once before sucking as his hips rolled up to meet Will’s.

There was no hesitation now, and Will felt every piece of himself melt into Hannibal’s touch, more than meeting halfway, watching as the cannibal abused his flesh with sharp teeth. He ground down against Hannibal and started to undo his shirt, deftly, pressing palms against tanned skin, rough through the coarse hair there.

“Hannibal-” he groaned into his ear, biting gently against his pulse.

With parted lips Hannibal panted as he watched Will undo his shirt and grind down on him. He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly as Will groaned his name and teeth sank in. Lust-blown eyes opened slowly to meet Will’s as he undid his pants and started to kiss and lick his way down his chest, sliding his body down under the younger man, his mouth heading steadily south. Will got up on his knees, leveraging away from Hannibal as he moved, giving him space as he shimmed his pants down and kicked them off.

The cannibal was rarely rendered speechless or breathless but as Will stripped and straddled his chest he barely knew where to place himself for a second, his dark gaze locked on sea-blue before trailing down the lines of his body with a reverent gaze. His palms came to rest on his thighs before sliding up to hold his hips. He closed his eyes and pressed his face forward, burying his nose in coarse hair, inhaling once before licking up the underside of his cock and swallowing it to the hilt with perfect suction and a wanton groan.

Will held fast to the back of the lounger, fingers gripping tightly as his cock was all but devoured by Hannibal, thighs pressed tight around his shoulders, slowly bucking into the volcanic warmth and wet. He shook as pleasure started to overrule all his senses, making soft gasping moans, painted with Hannibal name.

With every gasping moan of his name as it was drawn over Will’s lips, Hannibal sucked harder, fingers digging in over narrow hips to encourage the bucking until his was sure his lips would be split and bruised. Powerful fingers smoothed over and groped pert buttocks. He slapped the flexing muscles once as his lips slid back and sharp cannibal’s teeth teased the swollen tip before pointed tongue pushed into the weeping slit, swiping away salty pre-cum. The cannibal was quite sure he would never taste anything so sinfully good again. Wrapping long fingers over his slick shaft Hannibal only stopped suction to bite down over Will’s hip and suck until a blood-red bruise was left behind - a mark to ensure the brunet would remember he had been there. Returning his attention back to his cock, Hannibal looked up and caught Will’s gaze as he ever so slowly slid his lips back over the tip - goading him to fuck his mouth that much harder.

One hand slipped into Hannibal’s hair as Cal canted his hips over Hannibal’s face, tugging and holding him there as he started to rut against his mouth, rough bed of the cannibal’s tongue teasing the nerves and vein running along the underside to sweet perfection. Cal huffed out pleased breaths and moans as liquid heat built behind his thigh, spurred on as he watched Hannibal’s dark amber eyes, their connection  _ sealed _ . Hannibal sighed around Will’s cock at the renewed connection. Long arms reached up as he scratched down the smooth, writhing planes of his back sucking with renewed and relentless vigor. As his hands slid down over his ass, pulling him hard against his mouth, fingers pushed in and teased over his hole. He pulled back just long enough to growl, “Let me taste you…” before sinking his mouth over his cock again, cheeks hollowed and tongue swirling.

Cal tugged on Hannibal’s hair with one hand as he started to feel himself lose all control, hips working on their own accord as he gave into pleasure, whipping them harder and faster into Hannibal’s mouth. Eyes squeezed shut, Cal came, pinning Hannibal’s shoulders down as he did, all his weight thrown into spilling every lost drop past cannibalistic teeth.

“Fuck-”

Hannibal moaned as his mouth was filled over again, salt dripping down his throat as he was pinned there. But he was in no rush to escape as he swallowed greedily and licked Will clean and then some, the shaft of his cock resting against his tongue until it grew soft. All the while his hands massaged tight thighs and pert buttocks. Not a moment of pleasure spared between them as Hannibal feared the moment might slip away all too soon.

Riding it out, Cal finally let up, panting, sweating down his chest, he slithered down Hannibal’s body, and kissed him, sharing in the taste of himself, sinfully salty, on Hannibal’s tongue. Inching fingers against his hips, Cal undid Hannibal’s pants, and palmed him slowly with one hand, moaning at the size of his girth in his hand.

Hannibal’s hands were everywhere as once as Will moved back down over him, sharing breath and kissing again he wanted to say that his didn’t have to do this, that he was in no shape but as he took him in hand and moaned the cannibal’s hips rutted up of their own accord, seeking out every touch. He swore in a hundred different languages under his breath desperately wanting to throw Will down, but careful not to break the moment he let Will set the pace. Hannibal focused instead on sucking and biting Will’s lips, hands taking every liberty with the perfect and glistening trembling sea of flesh presented.

“How?” Will murmured, against Hannibal’s mouth, wanting to know every bit of Hannibal, what he liked, what he wanted, what he found erotic. Will’s fingers tightened around his shaft, squeezing on the way up, root to tip as he bit Hannibal’s lip.

Hannibal’s whole body arched with the squeeze, taking Will with it. He considered Will very carefully as rough fingers tugged on his cock, “Not like this.” Hannibal wrapped an arm around his waist and the other under his thigh as he held him close, picking him up and carried him to the bedroom, kissing him all the way. He lay Will back very slowly, hovering over him with a tender kiss before sinking down between his legs again and pressing the tip of his tongue against his rim - testing.

Will flushed hard, a deep scarlet color as his hands went to Hannibal’s hair immediately, not to stop him, but to tug closer, as pleasure spiked through him again, reawakening even after he’d just come. Hannibal hummed with the tug and pushed both tongue and finger in deeper, curling and thrusting until there was room enough for two to scissor inside whilst seeking out that secret ridge of flesh. All the while he pushed Will’s thighs further apart with the breadth of his shoulders, bulky muscles rolling and flexing, neck bent forward to accentuate the full line of his back to where it narrowed at the hem of his pants. The cannibal’s every sense and focus firmly on the squirming man beneath. Even when taking his own pleasure, Hannibal never stopped giving.

“Hannibal…” Will breathed, not sure how much his body withstand, pleasure coursing through him, his cock hard again, leaking against his stomach as he pressed down on Hannibal’s searching tongue and fingers, gasps becoming whispered moans as Hannibal took him apart, inside out.

Pushing a third finger in Hannibal knelt up between his thighs and made an almost theatrical show of licking his hand and wetting his cock, stroking it hard enough to draw back the foreskin and releasing it again, “I love the way my name rolls of that filthy tongue.” Hannibal murmured as he lowered himself down. He used one arm to hold himself up and the other to guide the head of his cock against Will’s sopping hole. As he slowly pressed the tip in he delved in for another heated kiss. “Say it again…” he breathed out, body starting to shake with the weight of pleasure, his tight hole squeezing almost painfully around his cock. He gasped with relief, panting as he pressed in further, sweat beading on his brow.

A groan escaped Will’s mouth as he breathed out, forced to relax as Hannibal breeched him, the ache was burning hot for a moment, and then everything turned blissful, that pleasant spot near the back pressed against beautifully.

“Hannibal,” he gasped, against the other man’s mouth, hands pressed against his shoulders, eyes connecting again, blue on amber, dark with lust.

“Good…” Hannibal closed his eyes as he sank into the Will, hips arching as he buried himself to the hilt just pausing there letting Will adjust to his size before he started fucking him to ruin.

They locked gazes again as a smirk tugged at his lips. He took one of Will’s forearms and brought it to his mouth and bit down, gently lifting off with a kiss before pinning it just above his head. “Your taste…” He purred before copying with action with the other arm and starting to roll his hips - slow at first. He groaned into Will’s mouth, “Your heat…”

All Will could do was groan, taking Hannibal in, hips canted just  _ so _ , feeling him tight up against him, pooling heat dripping down his lower back and thighs, flushed head to toe as Hannibal started to fuck another orgasm right out of him.

“Harder,” he whispered, wanting no holdbacks, nothing stopping Hannibal this time, not when Will was giving him full approval to be brutal, to make him feel  _ everything  _ for the next few days. Hannibal nodded in understanding, kissing him once, soft and tender as his hands worked above his head until both wrists were pinned with one hand. With one hand free he pushed Will’s thigh to his chest and without warming up the cannibal cracked both hips and palm down in a flash of movement, a violent growl exploding from his chest as he bit hard into the side of his neck, the piston of his cock into his hole was without mercy - he fully intended to leave the boy bedridden for days to come. But the explosion of movement released a tightly held coil of heat in the killer’s spine that unfurled through limbs and nerves casting liquid fire through flesh and muscles, he had to hold his breath and tense to stop the crest of an orgasm too soon. But he never slowed his rhythm.

Panting out, feeling it build and build, like no other orgasm he’d ever had, Will’s fingers clenched into his palms above head his, drawing pricks of blood, adding pain to the pleasure, one layer after another, sure that Hannibal was going to tear him apart, and all he could think was that he wanted him to. His eyes rolled back in his sockets, a wave of pleasure washing over him, peeking.

The scent of Will’s fresh oragsm and blood was sharp in his nose and on his tongue. He tugged one of his hands down and licked it over his with a rough growl as his whole body shuddered - the hot spurt of his seed filling Will to overflowing. Hannibal held Will’s palm to his mouth as he collapsed - painful, heated wave after wave crashing through him, pumping into Will with spasmodic jerks and rolls until he was milked of every pleasure. Hannibal felt as though he’d been dragged through the pounding surf and tossed out again, panting and sweating against the brunet’s neck. But this time the tide he surfed was entirely pleasurable as they lay there, tangled in a sweating, panting mess, his cock slowly growing soft inside until he could slide out and take Will in his arms again, cradling him against his chest.

When he’d finally caught his breath he pressed his lips to Will’s head, “I love you and it will take more than an ocean to tear me away again. I promise.” Never one to promise something in vain.

“I know,” Will said, pulse thrumming through his body, starting to slow, the dull ache of the day slowly returning to him, bandages on hands torn off in the heat of passion, and his swollen face no less bruised, but he felt elated just the same.

“Good,” Hannibal hummed. He eased himself out of bed despite the younger man’s protests, “I don’t want to risk infection. Let me tend to you then I am all yours, I promise.” And just the same as before, Hannibal got on bended knee and dressed his wounds and refreshed his pain killers. “Now, before I climb in there after you, are you sure you don’t want anything more to eat or drink?” Hannibal also had to feed Winston who had at least been decent enough to remain on the couch whilst they destroyed the bedroom.

“Water,” Will said, his stomach better, but he didn’t risk it. He wanted nothing more than to sleep it off, curled around Hannibal the rest of the evening.

Water was delivered and drunk, and Hannibal pulled Will over him, blankets high around their chins and Winston snoring at their feet. “Tell me again why it took us so long to get here?” Hannibal smiled, not wanting an answer merely musing on how the simplest things often seemed like the hardest to achieve, hands rubbing in protective circles over the other’s back.

Will tucked his nose into Hannibal’s neck, considering an answer, if there was even an answer to be had. Timing was just not right. The table was set, the candles were lit… “The menu was never right.”

But it was now. It took desperation and longing, a mind that was fragmented, and memories that didn’t exist, but it finally had come together for the perfect menu, two course at that.

Hannibal chuckled, “Sleep, I’ll ensure second breakfast is just as delicious.” He lifted one of Will’s hands and bit his finger before wrapping his arm around him, wanting to keep him as close as possible.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-author and I have split, but this series is done. I felt it deserved at least to have the very last chapters put up. It's not edited, I apologize, hopefully you'll still see it through to the end.

 

 

Hannibal slipped back into bed and nosed Will awake, Winston was fed and a tray of breakfast waiting. As he tipped his head to the side he planted a kiss just under his jaw, careful to avoid the purple-black bruises covering half of his face. A lazy hand sliding over his hip to tug him close. True to his word, he had no plans on letting Will leave the bed today or the next.

 

Exhausted, Will hardly move all night, and barely registered when Hannibal had left the bed. He hummed in his sleep when he was nuzzled and curled against, turning his head just slightly, the soft skin around his left eye swollen more so today than the night before.

 

“Nose is cold,” he murmured.

 

Hannibal hummed seeing that as an invitation to nose down beneath the covers and kiss over the breadth of Will’s chest and palm over the soft flesh of his abdomen and hip - one of the few places his wasn’t bruised. “How is your pain?” A warm muffled voice came from under the covers.

 

“Hardly noticeable now,” the brunet huffed, blinking open half swollen eyes, rolling to his back, watching Hannibal beneath soft sheets, getting just a little frisky. Hannibal peered up at him and pushed up to study his eye closer.

 

“You really shouldn’t lie to your Doctor, Mister…” Hannibal let that trail off, never knowing which name to use. He let his hips sink down, purposefully rolling his erection against Will’s thigh as he leaned over and got Will some pain medication and water.  


Will had started to notice that Hannibal never called him by name, and likely for good reason, but now it was just starting to feel impersonal. He took the pills and drank them down, eyes never leaving Hannibal’s.  
  
He set the glass down again. “Graham. Did you forget?”

 

“No,” Hannibal said honestly as he gently turned Will’s face to the side to look at his eye, checking for infection in the morning light. “But I don’t want any part of you to feel rejected. Cal Roberts or Will Graham.” A smile crept across his face, “But it would be nice to know what to groan out…” he arched an expectant brow.

 

Will was nothing more than bruised, nothing split or broken badly enough to warrant much medical attention.

 

“Let’s just go with Will for now.”

 

Hannibal nodded, “Or simply horrid?” He kissed Will lightly and rolled to the side, handing Will a coffee. As he had seen Will in full flight and knew Cal to be equally as passionate as such, he wondered how the other man had lived through the ordeal. But he thought better than to ask. He had organized his lawyer to make contact later today, ensuring that Will would not see the inside of a cell again any time soon.

 

Coffee in hand, Will sipped it with raised brows at Hannibal; “Sounds like something you’d call a cat.”

 

“Something a little kinder then.” Hannibal took a cup in hand and smiled down at it. “Let’s stick with mylimasis for now, shall we?”

 

Overly complicated was what it was, but that wasn’t Hannibal’s fault. They’d eaten the person at fault, there was little left to be done, except hope that at some point all the pieces came back together again.

 

Will simply nodded, sitting up a little more to sip his coffee, dressed, he noticed with one sugar.

 

Hannibal had weighed his words carefully on purpose, he looked out the window as he spoke not wishing to start a confrontation, “Mylimasis is an archaic Lithuanian term, used for male and female alike, it means beloved and only ever used as a term of endearment for one’s intended.” He took a sip before saying any more.

 

It had even been a risk when using it as code, quite sure Jack would do his research on any strange callers coming Will’s way.

 

“I know,” Will said, deciding not to let it sour his mood any further, what was done was done, after all, and they had to push ahead and not dwell-- as hard as that was for Will. “It’s fine. We’ll go with that.”

 

Hannibal was not one to simply brush things aside if he saw a way through. Shoulders turning around, he placed a hand on the younger man’s thigh, “Will, talk to me.”

 

“ _Now_ you’re going to try to be my therapist?” Will asked, a tad more edgy than he meant it to be, and swallowed down any other words he had.

 

“I _want_ to be your partner and maybe in time, more. Regardless, communication will be key.” Hannibal _wanted_ to hear any swallowed words quite sure it couldn’t be more painful than see him feel the need to hide away from yet _another_ person. Silence far more toxic than any words spilled, even in anger.

 

Will considered his words with the utmost care, so that they were heard and not washed over, mainly by himself than anyone else, and certainly not Hannibal.

 

“I never thought I’d feel less myself than I did when I was sick. I’m here, but not. Does that make sense?” Memories were strange, to have one replaced with another, knowing it’s wrong, but it’s all he knew at the same time.

 

Like his mother. That wasn’t _really_ his mother, but the connection was there.

 

“No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them, so while I cannot assume your point of view exactly I very much feel as though I have been loving someone caught in the in between. Will Graham is here, but constantly slipping away. Cal Roberts is here, but constantly slipping away. Both feel as real as they feel unreal. From my memories of you, being unsure of your feelings is particularly...destabilizing.” His words were spoken without pity rather with a thoughtful ease as he pondered all he had observed over the last few months.  
  
Hannibal paused only for thought, “I wish to be your anchor. Yet, I feel guilty if I extend my emotions to one end of the flux, Will Graham as opposed to the other, Cal Roberts. But I embrace both and don’t consider you any less for your fluidity of self.” Hannibal would not deny that there was grief associated with the change and the constant sense of losing Will, but he would not dwell on that either. He was more concerned with Will’s happiness or lack thereof.

 

“So, you may find that I ask you how you wish to be loved more often that I would normally enquire simply because I am observing two beings struggle in one and I want you to _feel_ love no matter what comes. If you would prefer something different, please let me know.”   
  
Hannibal paused again, allowing his statements to breathe. “Why is it the struggle making you feel _less,_ Will?” If there was one word Hannibal did _not_ associate with either Will or Cal it was _less._

 

Hannibal kept his hand on Will’s thigh letting him know he was there, but he focused on drinking his coffee to give Will the space he needed. The man beside would always be Will Graham to Hannibal, but be damned if the cannibal was going to leave any part of the mess Jack left behind unloved. Maybe in time the consistency of Hannibal’s love would be enough to anchor Will and stop him from feeling _less._ But he would not deny Will his rage either, it was an awful predicament with no easy answers when all Will had ever wanted was to feel some modicum of peace.

An uneasy swallow slipped down Will’s throat, making his Adam’s apple bob with exaggerated measures. He didn't feel _less_ , just _less_ whole, less stable. He had a very thorough life cut out for him, given to him, people told lies and asked to lie in return. How was that justified? Life long friends were just people, no bonds, no longer talks. Everything real was Hannibal, every in his sub reality was fake, and yet more real feeling than anything else. He could touch them, feel them, talk to them…

 

All the people of his real past were ghosts. He didn't remember his real father, or mother, he barely remembered where he went to school, or college. He had some memories of growing up on a fishing boat, mixed with another of living in a tent in the freezing cold. Both parallels of the other, replacing and coinciding, but so different.

 

“Less real. Less human. Memories are what make us who we are, without them, I feel like a walking etech-a-sketch, just waiting to be shaken up again, drawn over.”

 

It was unlikely to happen, Jack was dead, but the fear was implanted answer deep seated.

 

“I need you, Hannibal. To be that anchor.” His paddle. Jack had left him up a creek with even so much as a fishing pole, but luckily he had Hannibal.

 

“My mother knew. In her crazed drunken stupor at the facility, she mentioned it, and I cracked, right down the center. I yelled her. She isn't even my real mother, she knew, and yet she continued to play out this lie, continued to goad me into things, to guilt me…”

 

What had been done to Will was beyond forgiveness. Beyond any horror that even Hannibal could dream up. So many words came to mind cruel, invasive, sick… Even with Jack dead and digested the need for reckoning and resolution burned in both their guts. But the only resolution that would come would be through trying to make it the pieces of Will’s world that felt real enough to mean something hang together. They had to try and make a life, together.

“I am so sorry Will. I am sorry I could not protect you from what Jack has done or repair the damage. But I will be here, however you need me to be and should you feel like you are fading, I will ground you. And should someone seek to meddle. Well, that would be terribly rude.”

Hannibal had been largely selfish with his want for Will Graham, he yearned to be seen and see in return and share blood with the monster that slept under the young man’s skin. Slowly but surely he sought to drag him into his world.

While those dreams still hung fast to the walls of his memory palace now he was finding himself, for the first time, feeling selfless in his desire to love and hold and anchor.  Whenever the young man felt like he was fading he would be there to offer his hand and urge him to hold on. And while the Will Graham he had known would never have been offered protection or taken it, Will had been left in an entirely vulnerable state that was now ongoing. Hannibal would be both his anchor and shield against the world. Sanctuary.

“Your mother. You have mentioned her. How these people can continue the charade in any conscious is beyond all reason. It makes perfect sense you cracked. To maintain your life you are now forced to play into these lies. You are surrounded by feelings that are both real but entirely false. A destabilizing tide of emotions welling up from within and crashing over you from without. Feelings that constantly threaten to erode your truth. Tell me, Will, what was your mother hoping to goad and guilt you about? And are those emotional strings even there for her to pluck?”

Genuine curiosity. Hannibal knew the implanting ran deep but he was attempting to get a gauge on how to manage when Cal was at the fore – Cal was a wildly passionate man with a taste for violence. Hannibal needed to respect that too, if he was going to keep Will close and remain his anchor.

He needed to understand Will and Cal’s sense of _feeling_ as much as _see._

Hannibal shifted so and arm was wrapped around Will’s shoulders, holding him to his chest and chin balanced on his head – safe.

 

The only thing Will could assume about any of it was that they were all a little brainwashed into the spectacle that had become his life, or rather Cal's. _Their_ life.

 

“Not sure. Expose the truth maybe? I'm not sure she knew that I know.”

 

Hannibal rubbed his thumb absently over Will’s shoulder, thinking. “How will you sustain the charade?” Frequent retreats to Peru may be of more benefit to Will than either had anticipated.

 

“I don’t know now. I can’t _leave_.” Will sipped his coffee as he chatted with Hannibal, quietly, just them, Winston at their feet.

 

Although the circumstance was far from ideal, Hannibal closed his eyes to bask in the simple comfort of this moment. Will in his arms, a lazy morning together in bed after a night of passion. The small things could not be treasured enough, even when framed in horror. “Do you want to leave?” If there was one thing Hannibal knew how to do was disappear, but it would mean a high-risk life on the run.

 

There was no saying, for any certainty, if Will could run, if they hadn’t implanted him with a chip for tracking. He had no way of knowing, and given it was Jack, and Jack knew Will had tendencies to want to run away with Hannibal, the once FBI agent would have done it.

 

“I will always want to,  with you.”

 

Hannibal gently brushed the tips of his fingers along the underside of his jaw and tipped his head as he dipped down and kissed him with the utmost tenderness.

 

“And I will always want to run away with you. Maybe one day...I would dearly love to show you Florence.”. _..and make their union official there._ The last words left unspoken, for now. Will knew Hannibal’s intentions.

 

But wanting was not enough and they both knew it - the wiser option was to stay.

 

“I will do what I can to make this easier for you.” Which meant his menu options may need to change at least for a while.

 

Fingers curled around a cooling mug as Will gazed up into Hannibal’s eyes, a small smiled etched into his scruffy face. “Time heals most wounds, doesn’t it? We just need to buy enough of it.”

 

“We have all the time in the world, I promise.” He slid his hand down to cup the side of his neck, thumb playing over the roll of his Adam’s apple as he stole another kiss, and another. Holding him just there his kisses moved over his lips and down the less bruised side of his jaw until he was abusing the tender flesh of his neck.

 

Will set his mug down, barely, on the nightstand, head turning into Hannibal’s sharp teeth as his skin crawled with a layer of goosebumps, and he hummed. It was a promise that no one could keep, but Will was thankful that Hannibal at least wanted to feed the delusion for now.

 

“You’re very good at distracting me from everything but _you_ ,” he murmured.

 

Teeth skimmed over his collarbone and pointed tongue dipped into the flesh there, “Would you prefer I stopped distracting you, Mister Graham?” Hannibal slowly rolling over to straddle the younger man as he spoke.

 

“No,” Will said, glad to hear his name roll off Hannibal’s accented tongue. He pressed his palms into the other man’s thighs, tugging him down that much more over his hips.

 

Hannibal hummed as Will guided him over, “Good, as I had to intentions of stopping.” Full lips continued to work their way down licking and sucking over nipples and ridges of muscle. Warm, skilled hands palmed down his side to position over hipbone and slowly rolled them out as Hannibal nestled between, teasing the smooth plane of flesh across his abdomen with gentle bites.

 

“Coffee and breakfast in bed was just your way of not letting me out of bed, wasn’t it?” Will asked, spreading his thighs to accommodate Hannibal there, still naked from last night, unable to hide the way his cock twitched with anticipation.

 

Hannibal trailed his bites down to the inside of his thighs, spreading him further, “It would appear you had deduced my dastardly plan. Whatever will I do now?” The flat, wet bed of his tongue coaxing Will’s twitching cock to stiffen under his stimulation.

“Blow me,” Will chuckled but it only came out as a needy groan, fingers slipping into Hannibal’s hair, giving a little tug as he rolled his hips up to meet his tongue.

 

“Rude,” Hannibal licked the word over the head of his cock, tongue sliding through the slit before swirling around and chasing the pulsing vein all the way down, sucking firmly as he palmed and rolled his balls in one hand and scratched down his hip with the other.

 

“If this is the treatment I get for beating a guy…” Will teased, but his tone came out breathless, fingers clutching for purchase in Hannibal’s hair and one in the bed sheets, trying not to roll his hips to get more.

 

“That was a lot of bail money. I had to do something to make sure you stayed put.” Hannibal teased back, the fat head of Will’s cock rolling over his swollen lips before he swallowed him down again. He rose up on his knees this time to suck the full length of his shaft, fingers teasing his balls and cleft and everything in between as he let saliva pool and run wet trails down to his hole. As his shoulders and back arched and rolled he sucked down harder, tongue playing extra attention to the ridges and veins as long fingers wound around the base and started to stroke.

 

“That’s-” Will started to groan out, toes curled as Hannibal paid that extra special care to make sure Will wanted to be no where else but right here. The brunet started to wonder how he ever _lived_ without this. “Hannibal…”

 

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was love. Maybe love _was_ selfish but in this moment he wanted nothing more than to fill Will’s head with nothing but thoughts of himself and pleasure. As he stroked and sucked, tongue flicking over the tip - teasing as he looked up with a knowing glint in his amber gaze he eased two fingers deep inside with a slow stroking curl, once again letting Will get used to the feeling whilst seeking to chase down his every pleasure. More than anything Hannibal wanted to know how to worship at this, his altar of lustful devotion.

 

Whether it was love or selfishness, Will hardly care which. His body unfurled with every touch, relaxed as fingers eased into him, pleasure coursing through his veins all at once, eliciting a growl from his throat. Hannibal had capable hands far more skilled than Will ever imagined.

 

"Let me feel you."

 

Hannibal pushed up, palms hard against the mattress and knees pressing forward as he slowly climbed up WIll’s body, never breaking eye contact. Just as he drew close enough for a kiss, his tongue swiped across the younger man’s lips as he sank down over him, taking him in one downward thrust. Only then did his tongue take over Will’s mouth, swallowing every groan. Will's body ached with familiarity, taking Hannibal in with a breath of air out, and then kissed him passionately. His skin hummed, heart thudding in his ears, hands roaming over Hannibal's perfectly board chest. Their tongues mingled and pressed together, slow and passionate.

 

Yesterday had been a desperate near violent breakthrough of long held passion, of needing to be everywhere at once. Today, Hannibal wanted to savor and let the heat build slowly as he worked over Will; exploring and being explored in return. But as he arched his neck and looked down, watching the way Will rolled up to take his cock the low simmering heat built in to quick licking flames. Returning to kiss and groan into Will’s mouth he reached down and took the younger man’s cock in hand, squeezing at the base and keeping pressure all the way up and down again.

 

Gasping with every thrust and squeeze, Will gripped Hannibal’s shoulders tight, nails digging into muscular flesh. He brought his heels around to Hannibal’s lower back, pressing them in there, holding him in closer.

 

“There-”

 

With lips parted Hannibal dragged in ragged breaths and nodded in response, committing Will’s needs to memory as he rolled the full length of his body against him in long, slow waves, his hips grinding his cock down into _that_ spot that had Will writhing and groaning. With his fist pressed between them extra pressure was added to his strokes over his cock whilst he felt a pooling heat building his his spine pulsing for release. With every thrust, Will seemed to clench harder making it almost impossible to stave off the threatening orgasm. “Will~” he breathed out.

 

Trying to stave off his orgasm, Will groaned but the need to feel that heat explode was too much, and he let go of holding it in, and dug his heels in more, gasping and groaning, leaning up to bite Hannibal’s lip. The bite earned a pleased breathy hiss from Hannibal and a final stutter of hips as he released with a strained groan, head and chest falling forward as came in hot white streams filling Will’s split heat and sliding through the white streaks that painted both his and Will’s chest. Together they lay sweating and panting - a debauched, blissful mess. Hannibal turned his face in against his neck and kissed off the sweat there, inhaling sharply - the air rich with musky sex.

 

“Utterly and incurably rude.”

 

Will huffed, amused, and kissed his jaw, and then his lips again. This was their life now, in less than a day, but months apart, this had become _them._ “Should I apologize?”

 

Hannibal smiled and rolled off on to his back, catching his breath whilst leaving a hand tangling through Will’s curls, side-eyeing him, “Profusely and continuously. Preferably with that very rude tongue of yours.” He grinned before leaning up on his elbows and reaching for his now lukewarm coffee, “But perhaps wait for after breakfast.”

 

Hannibal had always known this was _them_ he simply had to wait for the right timing. Amidst all the destruction and falling apart maybe something was finally coming together.

 

Will rolled to get his coffee and look at the rest of breakfast in bed, and sat up to grab the plate. “Refuel?” He asked, biting into bacon, where Cal might have cringed, Will was still very much a meat eater.

 

Hannibal nodded, pleased to see Will eating after his ordeal yesterday - the image of him curled up in that cell beaten and broken was burned into his memory. “Refuel indeed. You may very well be the death of me yet.”

 

He smoothed down his greying hair and scratched blunt nails through his chest hair sighing contentedly. He picked up his tray and sliced into his toast, Winston begging at the bedside. On any normal day he would pit Winston out and cook them a fresh breakfast rather than let either of them eat a cold meal but today was not a normal day and in this circumstance it was very much worth the sacrifice.

 

“Will your mother or the people at the compound be wondering where you are?” Whilst Hannibal had no intention of letting Will leave bed there was some concern that either the FBI or Meyerists would grow overly curious about _Cal’s_ absence.

 

“I doubt my mother cares after what I said to her,” Will sighed, shifting his jaw as he bit into another bite of bacon, giving some to Winston. “I will need to call the compound, at least.”

 

Hannibal weighed his words carefully, “Your mother… does that tug at old wounds or are you able to keep that connection at a distance?” He was growing ever more aware how Jack had constructed this new life to weave around and snag at whatever threads of Will Graham’s life may have resurfaced over time.

 

“I never knew my _real_ mother,” Will whispered, but when he really thought about it, it started to make a little sense, that maybe, just maybe that woman _was_ his mother. They’d gotten to her too.

 

Hannibal caught the change in tone, “Will?” He put the tray aside and turned his full attention to his lover.

 

“What if she is my mother? Authenticate the memories with the real thing?” Will raised his brow toward Hannibal, as his mind made leaps and connections most people would never make.

 

Hannibal fully suspected that was something Jack would be capable of, and a wise choice under such circumstance but ultimately very cruel. Another choice taken away. But some good may be salvaged.

 

“What if she is? What would that mean to you?” He left that hang - what difference would it make to Will’s approach here. Will’s fears of abandonment were so very deeply rooted, if she dared repeat the act a second time… Well, Hannibal could and would be very _persuasive_ when needed.

 

“I would suggest such questions can only be dwelled on and picked apart once you know for sure. She had already proved that she is a capable liar. You may need to seek the answer for yourself.” Hannibal, as with most things medical, has access to DNA testing, consent or no. He took Will’s hand in his, the skin rough and calloused against his own. Long fingers entwined and stroked over the other’s - comforting.

 

Setting his plate aside, Will turned into Hannibal's broad chest, and looked at him, eye level.

 

“Come to think of it, my only memory is of my real father,” he mused, the cranks if not his mind working furiously, a far off look in his seat blue eyes. “Every memory of Cal's father uses _my_ father.”

 

Mixed moments of fishing boats answer camping out in the compound, but they all had alcohol to the background, a father doing his best, but never knowing how to care for Cal/Will completely.

 

Something about this situation felt larger than Will even imagined.

 

Hannibal reached out, fingers skimming his jaw, his neck, shoulder, palm over his back and finally drawing him against his chest as he leaned them both back, gazes still locked.

 

“It would seem, then, that has Jack scrambled for every broken thread of your old life and weaved into this new life. The best lies are always built on truth. Does this idea comfort you, or enrage you? That you might find some truth, answers, within this strange new reality of Cal Roberts...”

 

“About my mother, you mean?” Will asked, letting Hannibal hold him like this, as it seemed to give the older man some means of comfort to know he might be comforting Will. Honestly, it was nice, given his solace as Cal over the last few years. And while the comfort went both ways, it was also a gentle manipulation- touch and scent both overriding factors in grounding a person in the immediate reality. Already a sensual creature Hannibal would become more so over the coming weeks, calling both Will’s mind and flesh back to him. It was also very much part of the reason Winston was with them now.

 

“Yes, to think it may be your real mother and that she may provide some answers, resolution even.”

 

“She left _us_.” Will had never known her, never wanted to, never thought about it. She left, and her leaving put him and his father through hell-- that’s all he knew. Even still, he sighed, chin canted up as he looked at Hannibal, shifting his jaw thoughtfully.

 

“Do you think she’d want to see me even now?”

 

Hannibal knew little of the circumstance around her return. All he knew was that she was here even after Jack’s _departure_ , “Only she can answer that. Indeed, only she will have answers to a lot of questions that reside at the heart of you. More than anything, I think you will always regret not attempting to ask those questions while you have the chance.”   
  
Whilst appearing benevolent Hannibal fully expected Will’s mother to either reject him or strain under the weight of the truth and confirm Will’s identity as himself, all driving Will back into his arms and perhaps even away from this place.

 

Not the answer Will expected from Hannibal, he watched him carefully, sea blue eyes searching his face for honesty, and finding nothing but that there. He curled his naked leg around Hannibal’s hip, curled into him.  
  
“When things die down, I’ll call her.”

 

“I can assure you that nothing will die down as long as you keep doing that.” Hannibal rubbed his palm over Will’s thigh where it wrapped around. “I would offer to go with you in any other circumstance, you understand?”

 

Will squeezed an arm around Hannibal. “I know. I… just don’t want what happened yesterday to happen again.”

 

Hannibal looked out the window, fingers lightly rapping over Will’s skin. “Technically, you aren’t an alcoholic but somehow, they have convinced your subconscious you are. Total abstinence may be you’re only solution in regards to maintaining control. Amnesiac’s can be prone to carrying high levels of aggression whether from frustration or some other reason. No need to add extra stress to the pile - for now.”

 

Or, until Hannibal could get him away from here. The stress of this double life undoubtedly adding to Will’s emotional stress and division.

 

Will gazed up at Hannibal even as the other man looked away, watching the tight lines of his face, fondly.

 

“You’re taking my whiskey away from me?” Will asked, slightly amused, though he was not going to fight it, Hannibal had a very good point.

 

“Yes. But I plan on replacing it with something far more intoxicating.” Hannibal dipped and bit his neck as he dragged the young man over him, arms wrapped around his back so he couldn’t slip away.

 

“One addiction for another.” Will gazed down at Hannibal now, leaned over him, legs on either side of his slim hips, hands resting against his chest, fingers carded through the thicket of hair there, curling and uncurling.

 

Hannibal’s gaze followed down the lines of Will’s body along with a single finger that traced down his center until he reached the underside of his rib and traced there too, “A radically unorthodox form of treatment…” He stole a glance back up, eyebrow raised.

 

“I think you’re just trying to get me to stay in bed,” Will murmured, but made no move to actually roll off Hannibal or leave; content to be right where he was, comfortably.

 

“Far from it,” he murmured against his chest as his fingers skimmed down over his hip bone, thumb pressing into the dip there, “I am succeeding at keeping you in bed. If you’re lucky you may even get all three meals delivered here.” Part selfish reason and in part because Hannibal would be suggesting bed rest to any patient with Will’s injuries.

 

“You’re spoiling me,” Will murmured, kissing Hannibal softly on the lips, careful of his already split lip that had been kissed apart and bruised from their last round.

 

“Only fair when I plan on ruining you so thoroughly.” His thumb stroked softly over his lip, reminding him to be careful, whilst his other hand continued further south, stroking down between Will’s thighs and the smooth crease there.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited or beta'd. Just trying to get the last few out for you guys who have stuck around, even now.

 

Days passed into a week quickly, but it took as long for bruised ribs and face to finally heal enough that Cal could walk into the compound without people staring or wondering. Cal needed to tell them on his own terms, his own time, but with the news about, it was likely those who kept up with the media would already know. Cal was prepared for the onslaught from Sarah, but still wished he had some sort of back up, some way out, some hidden shelter that he could run to.

 

Hannibal had made him need, he realized, a structure that would hold him up, and he could not be without.

 

Taking a deep breath, Cal walked with Sarah, quietly listening to her ramble on.

 

“When I agreed to you taking the interview, I knew we were doing the right thing-- Cal this isn’t the publicity we need right now,” she said, whisper soft so that their presence didn’t draw eyes on them, people working efficiently in the gardens as they passed by in their stroll.

 

“It wasn’t _planned_ , Sarah. I was with Brenda… I-” he breathed out a deep sigh through his nose, jaw tightening - “I fucked up.”

 

“So you were drunk.”

 

Cal watched the streets, a moment of vulnerability that he had only ever let Sarah or Hannibal see. “Yes.”

 

“We’ve all been worried about you.”

 

“I’m _fine_ , Sarah,” Cal snapped, it was harder than usual to not look at her and be agitated, because she wasn’t anything more to him than just a made up memory. Still, the memories were there, and it was the reason he kept his calm as long as he had already.

 

“Where were you? Not with Steve, we’re not stupid.”

 

“With a friend. He was taking care of me.”

 

“That book writer?”

 

Cal hummed his only answer.

 

“None of us know anything about him, Cal. He seems… dangerous. The vibe we’re getting-”  
  
Cal slowed his pace, and stopped, holding a hand to her shoulder, squeezing it, a warning. “Trust me.”

 

“How can I trust you? You’ve got drunk at bar, you beat a man to near death, Cal. You left me  here to deal with Miranda Frank on my own…” Sarah looked not just angry, but vulnerable for a moment, and Cal put his arm around her, reassuring, and yet solid.

 

“And you handled it didn’t you?” He asked, his voice was low, dangerous, almost a purr in her ear. Sarah didn’t move, frozen in place.

 

“She won’t unburden.”

 

“I’ll look into it.”

 

***

 

Everything went to shit fast. Miranda Frank wouldn’t unburden, and Sarah had gotten a hold of her, and things looked grim for Miranda as it seemed the juice they gave her had put her in a rough patch, and she broke her arm. Hallucinations were often hard to overcome for some, and when they didn’t watch her close enough, well…

 

The truth came out of her finally, and it had nothing to do with an affair at all, but for the sake of everything that had happened, Cal couldn’t let it be known that Eddie was losing faith, not that he transgressed. The idea that Miranda might have had unclean thoughts about Eddie was planted, and she believed it, that it had gone levels to make Eddie believe it too. Cal left it at that, and left Sarah assuming the worst, for now.

 

And now, he was dealing with two of the founders coming in to check on him, and how he’s handled everything after being in jail. Cal was on his last threads of sanity when he finally decided to call Hannibal, as he knew he needed some grounding.

 

Hannibal had waited patiently as the house keeping things in order whilst keeping things ready to be dropped at a moment's notice to run if things with Will’s warring personality turned sour. But more than anything, Hannibal wanted to maintain a steadfast island of sanity in the back of Will’s mind - something to ground and come back to. What Jack had taken away, Hannibal was slowly, ever so slowly, piecing back together. Jack never was patient enough for the long game. And Will was certainly someone who needed to be played for a long time in order to fully come around.

 

Setting his book aside he picked up the phone, “It has been some time. I was worried.”

 

“Sorry,” Cal breathed out, sitting in the corner of his office with the lights out so no one would come to bother him. “It’s been busy. Eddie and Sarah and their drama.” Cal shook his head even if Hannibal couldn’t see him. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No apologies my dear boy.” Although Hannibal was up and pacing knowing code for _trouble_ when he heard it. He moved to the window and scanned the yard. “Busy? Anything I can help with?”

 

“I have founders here this week, watching me and my every move,” Cal sighed, quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just needed to hear your voice.”

 

“A week.” Hannibal hummed less than pleased. He moved away from the window and shut the blinds for now, making sure Winston was inside and out of sight. “Does that mean you are missing me, horrid boy?”

 

Cal bit his lip, eyes closed, Hannibal voice alone was enough to make him half hard. “Yes.”

 

Hannibal paused his walking as he listened to the heated way Will breathed out the word. This wasn’t about _help_ this was about _release._ “Good. I have missed you to in the most _awful_ ways. That mouth of yours…” He let that hang as he arched his brow, a smile ghosting over his lips as he closed the rest of the blinds and made his way back to the bedroom - letting Will hear the groan of bedsprings.

 

A shudder rocked through Cal’s frame, quiet as he unzipped himself, sure to let Hannibal know exactly what he was doing without having to say it. “I wish you were here so I could mount your face.”

 

Hannibal returned the favour with a loud rip of zip and crack of belt, “Hm, still planning on strapping me down and abusing my mouth? Forcing that pretty cock of yours over my ever hungry tongue?” His large palm pushed down into his pants with an audible exhale of strained breath.

 

“Yes. Next time we’re together,” Cal whispered, his voice deep with need as he shoved his hand down into his khakis, palming over his cock as he let out a small, relieving, gasp.

 

“Would it please you to have me choking on that thick cock of yours? Tongue wound hot and greedy around it?” Hannibal smiled as he breathed out the words, his own erection heavy in his hand now as the strokes became firmer and faster, a low groan slipping over full lips.

 

Heady breath escaped Cal’s lungs, slowly, working himself from root to tip, concentrating on the sensation, thinking about fucking Hannibal’s mouth wholly. “Yes.”

 

“Filthy,” Hannibal growled down the line, pre-cum dribbling freely now. “And would I need to beg you to ride my cock as you did? Pumping up under you? Filling you completely?” A grunt pressed passed gritted teeth as he closed his eyes, thinking only of his senses being entirely drowned out with Will above him, riding cock and fucking his mouth.

 

“I would fill your mouth first and then fuck myself on you, ride you hard even after you’d come… _twice_ ,” Cal said, his breath jagged now as he felt beads of pre-cum sweat down his grip, tigther now, smoothing rough hands over the sensitive head of his own cock.

 

Hannibal groaned openly as he squeezed the tip of his cock, “Pain at your hand would only make me cum a third time, whorish boy of mine. And just think what I would do to you once I was free of my binds, hm? Do you think I would let you off with just the once? I would have you on your knees so fast you would stop _breathing_ …” He purred more as a promise than a threat. “Hand around your throat and fist in your ass.”

 

The noise that escaped Cal’s throat was dangerously heated as he started to come at Hannibal’s words alone, moaning whorishly into the phone at just the _thought_ of being roughed up like that by the doctor.

 

“Fuck-”

 

Hannibal’s body arched up, cock pulsing as he came in white lines over his chest, panting and groaning down the phone, lips pulled back into a pleased sneer that quickly fell away as he was still alone here and suspected he would be for some time. Head pressed back into the pillow he looked over at Will’s empty side of the bed, making note to have belts and his fist ready on his boy’s return.

 

“Better, horrid boy?”

 

There was still a vast empty void in his stomach, that felt like someone had cut it right out of him. “Yeah,” Cal sighed, wiping his hand with some tissue from the table nearest him, and did himself up again.

 

Hannibal closed his eyes, hand still around his softening cock, “I still _miss_ you, Will.” Grounding his true identity. “Now, are you going to tell me what has you so pent up?” It was clear that Will needed release from some kind of stress, especially when his lust was flavoured with such delicious violence.

 

Hannibal could call him anything, honestly, either Cal or Will, it hadn’t mattered, and didn’t matter. “Bill and Felicia are doubting my leadership capabilities. A woman almost died on my watch, she’s fine, though…”

 

Hannibal moved to wipe himself clean as he listened. “And are _you_ doubting your capabilities?” If _anyone_ was capable of leading people to the truth, or away from it as the case may be, it was Will.

 

“I doubt a lot of things, but I know I can lead these people, they just don’t see it, that everything is going to fall apart without Steve…” Cal sighed, burying his face in one hand.

 

“You’re...staying.” Was all Hannibal heard. The weight of all these peoples’ lives would weigh heavy on _both_ Cal and Will, it didn’t matter who. The bottom line is that he felt responsible. “I am sure you can convince them of your power soon enough. Just like you convinced me.” Even if it ended up being at a distance if he was going to maintain any hold on Will, he had to remain _stable._

 

“I can’t leave these people… You could come here, as Mark,” Cal suggested, trying to grasp both ends of the rope, but it felt so, so slippery.

 

Hannibal blinked once as he looked down at Winston. Jack, despite his demise, still had Will firmly where he wanted him. “They need you.” Hannibal conceded understanding whilst Will knew, Hannibal could go on alone. He had managed it once before. He would manage again.

 

“But I need _you_ ,” Will said, tone breaking as a clear line was slipped over, and Will looked at his hands. The battle of right and wrong that went on in his mind was rougher when he talked to Hannibal, but in a way that made him question his sanity, and not for worse.

 

“As I need you.” Hannibal paced the length of his darkened and quiet house. “Leave your door open tonight. We will organize something. Do you trust me?” Hannibal’s tone was even as he sought to sooth Will’s mind before he slipped.

 

Will was not unaware just how damaged he was this time around, that it was not Hannibal that damaged him, but someone he once trusted. Now, he had to trust the person he loved, wholly. “Yes.”

 

“Good.” Hannibal’s voice was warm, smooth and final down the line as he ended the call, weighing up his options not at all unaware the phone call could have been bugged. He could only hope with Jack gone there was no reason to.

 

It was late when Hannibal eased the door open and stepped inside, swiftly closing it behind him and checking all the blinds were closed. He lifted off his hat and hung up his jacket as his eyes scanned for Will, who was in the bedroom, on the small mattress, attempting to sleep. Hannibal smiled and sat on the bed beside, smoothing the bed of his palm up his back and kissing his cheek. “Did you forget I was coming?” He murmured against his ear.

 

“Wasn’t sure when you were coming,” Will murmured, rolling over to look up at Hannibal, hair longer, curlier.

 

Hannibal hummed, hands moving up into messy curls, holding him in place as he lay down next to him, lips pressed over his, “Or, did you just want me to find you in bed?”

 

“Maybe that,” Will breathed against Hannibal’s mouth, longingly, and kissed him back, hands tugging at fistfuls of clean pressed shirt and jacket.

 

“Maybe?” Hannibal pulled back the covers and pushed Will’s t-shirt up off over his head, leaving his chest bare for lips, teeth and tongue to abuse as hands roamed up to slide two fingers inside Will’s mouth and paint soft lips wet before the cannibal dove in for a consuming kiss.

 

Groaning, Will lathed his tongue against Hannibal’s as their kiss turned heated, arms wrapping around his shoulder, hands in his hair, touching anywhere he could before unbuttoning Hannibal’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, greedy to feel skin-to-skin again.

 

“Possibly.”

 

Wrapping one arm under Will to hold him just there he continued kissing as he leaned to the side and scraped blunt nails down over Will’s hips and pushed off his boxers, groaning as the younger man kicked them off leaving himself bare underneath him.

 

“Entirely. I believe you have a promise to keep?” Hannibal used his spare hand to unbuckle his belt.

 

Will rolled them, Hannibal under him, and helped him remove the last bits of his clothes. He leaned, reaching in the drawer by the bed, and pulled out silken rope, less rough than other kinds, and started to lace Hannibal’s hands into neat knots with it, and then tied to the bedpost.

 

“Better?”

 

“Not quite.” Hannibal looked down at his hands and tested the knots. Tight. Will hadn’t forgotten his fishing skills. He lifted his gaze back to Will and dragged his tongue across his lip, head canting just _so_.

 

Cal gazed down at Hannibal, and crawled up his chest, knees on either side of his shoulders, pressing the very tip of his cock against Hannibal’s lips.

 

“Finally have me where you want me?” A hot, pointed tongue swiped up the underside of his cock before lips closed over the tip, gazes still locked as he slowly took him to the hilt.

 

“Perfectly submissive like this? Yes,” Cal crooned, holding onto the headboard with his hands as he rocked his hips against Hannibal’s mouth slowly.

 

Hannibal cocked a brow and closed his teeth over the base of _Cal’s_ shaft, reminding him who he was playing with, before resuming with even greater suction, tongue playing softly over the tip and lapping at the base. Cal twisted fingers through Hannibal’s hair, keeping him just _there_ , encouraging him to use those teeth again.

 

“Hannibal-”

 

Hannibal grunted at being held in place further but was never one to deny his lover’s pleasure. Teeth closed gently around the shaft and grazed all the way up, lips closing over the end of the shaft - wet and sloppy, he chomped loud against the tip before sucking him down again.

 

Cal gritted his teeth and started to pound his cock into Hannibal’s mouth, roughly, watching him with dark, lusty blue eyes that were almost gray in the moonlit room. Sloppy, slick sounds echoed through the otherwise quiet room, along with the heavy panted breaths falling from Cal’s mouth, so close already.

 

Hannibal’s eyes closed as he focused on taking him down, _Cal’s_ hips slamming and bruising against his lips as he near choked on his cock but he didn’t let up his perfectly controlled sucking, lathing and biting - abusing _Cal’s_ cock like it was a piece of meat. Just as he felt _Cal_ start to give himself over he pulled back completely, closing his mouth and staring up at him, _curious._

 

Cal _glared_ down at Hannibal, no words said, just an exchange of eye contact, one dominant soul to the other. Cal didn’t move, but he didn’t _force_ himself on Hannibal either.

 

Hannibal smiled at the look before sliding his mouth back down over his shaft, tongue worrying the slit and teasing out any pre-cum he could.

 

Not sure what that was about, Cal took what Hannibal would give, losing himself to the sensation once again, hips only rocking gently this time.

 

“Stop holding back, _Cal._ Let me _see._ ” Hannibal demanded in a low, even tone before sucking down over his cock, broad shoulders straining and arms outstretched beneath him having _happily_ placed himself here _submitting._

 

Cal grunted, holding the headboard in his hands, he whipped his hips against Hannibal’s mouth, squeezing his head between his thighs as the slick sucking sounds became more frequent, sloppier, and his breaths ragged with lust. His fingers turned white against the dark wood, nails dug into the hard texture as his veins seemed to set fire to his skin, unable to stop until he’d spilled every last drop.

 

Hannibal gasped and swallowed as his mouth was thoroughly and delightfully _used_ by _Cal_ , who pulled off, panting, and as promised, worked his way down Hannibal’s perfect body, and licked his cock, and started to suck.

 

Hannibal watched, wide eyed and panting, licking the cum off his swollen lips as he strained against his restraints, hips bucking as he swore in a hundred different languages. His head fell back on his shoulders accentuating the breadth of his panting chest. Only then did he see the flashing blue and red lights behind the curtains. “Cal~” he snarled.

 

The lights swarmed the room quickly, and Cal worked quickly to get Hannibal out of ropes, tossing on pants and helping Hannibal at least be _decent_ , though he was sure the cannibal had dignity either way.

 

“Shit,” he swore under his breath.

 

Hannibal shrugged on his shirt and peered out the windows. In every direction they were surrounded. He turned slowly towards Will and did up his shirt, as if there was no rush at all, “Did you know I was coming here to say my goodbyes so you decided to keep me near by seeing me behind bars? Surely that trick is even old by our standards.” He looked down and brushed down his pants as the door was kicked in. Hannibal kept his gaze on Will and he slowly raised his arms and sank to his knees.

 

“No, no. I swear,” Will said, the panic in his eyes was very real, very true, as he sank down at the same time. They had to have tapped his bungalow, had to have.

 

The FBI started to cuff Hannibal, but they looked at Will, and helped him stand again, but held him back from trying to stop them from taking Hannibal.

 

“Sooner or later, Jack Crawford knew he’d come looking for you,” The agent said to Will, and the guilt started to seep into his veins, heart breaking.

 

Hannibal kept his gaze on Will, blinking once and nodding to indicate he understood before he was shoved and ushered out and walked down to the police van where he was muzzled and strapped in. His goodbye being far more final than even he anticipated. His only concern was how Will would ground himself now. Hopefully he would remember Winston was still there. It wasn’t the same but it was _something._

 

Hannibal wasn’t even out the door yet before Will  was on his knees again, shaking. This was not something his fragile mind could handle right now, stuck in nearly two separate mind states, it was easy enough to just fall apart.

 

“He killed Crawford didn’t he?” The agent asked, and it took Will a second to react, Hannibal being dragged out to the car, and he shot up quick.

 

“NO! I KILLED JACK!” he cried out, anything to get him taken with Hannibal or taken instead, but they both knew that Hannibal would be the one arrested one day or another.

 

“Mister Graham, please calm down-” The agent had shot forward to grab Will’s arm, which he yanked out of his grip, still following them to the car where Hannibal was put in. “Mister Graham.”

 

“Shut up! You don’t understand…” Will started to say, but there were more hands on him, and the more he fought back, the harder they did too, until finally one batoned him across the back of the head and the world went dark for Will.

 

Hannibal had tried to catch Will’s gaze, his own crimson eyes peering over the white mask simply appealing to him to be _quiet_ , to find _ease_ and that he would handle this, as he _always_ did. But watching his boy crumple and fall apart, Hannibal suspected Jack had done more damage than could be held together under such strain. Limerence was very real at the best of times.

 

Hannibal’s gaze darkened and his jaw set as the baton came down but he didn’t move from where he sat quietly, etching the faces of Will’s abusers into his memory. This time alone would only give him longer to make _preparations._

 

The door slammed shut and the afterimage of Will’s crumpled form was left glowing behind his eyes as he sat, eyes shut for the journey back to Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. His accommodations were sparse but his diagnosis of insanity was the only thing keeping him from the chair at this point.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I did a quick edit, so there will be mistakes.  
> 2) Hope you all enjoyed the ride. There was a sequel in the making but all things considered, not sure I'd post what was written (three finished chapters)  
> 3) Yeah, I know this chapter is really... well you'll see.  
> 4) Thanks for sticking around!

 

When Will woke, he was cuffed, both hands in front of him, and slouched up against a cool metal wall. The first thing he heard was the sound of his mother, of Brenda Roberts, talking to someone, but he couldn’t quite make out everything she was saying. His world was dizzying, as his eyes came into focus, her large, blurry form just feet away from him, talking to what looked to be an orderly.

 

Sure enough, they had taken Will to the criminally insane hospital, for evaluation.

 

“He doesn’t need to be in here. He needs to be with _me_ ,” Brenda said, voice husky and monotone, like she’d just come off an all nighter and smoking a cigarette. The thought made Cal’s throat clench.

 

“I’m not going anywhere with her,” he said, groggily, his head aching from the base of his skull up.

 

“Shh, Will, sweetheart, it’s fine. Mama’s here, and we’re going to take to home and care for you,” Brenda said, coming over to sooth him, taking him up in her arms and rocking him, which only made the roll of nausea worse.

 

“No, no… you aren’t my mother,” Will stuttered, trying to push away from her, but his bound hands made it all too difficult. “I want to see Hannibal. Let me see Hannibal-”

 

“Mister Graham, Hannibal Lecter was moved to another hospital, away from here in case we needed to keep you for treatment,” The orderly said, sighing as she watched Will all but crumble.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“I can’t tell you that-”

 

“WHERE IS HE?”

 

“-Mister Graham please calm down-”

 

“I won’t calm down, I want to--” But the rest of his words were cut off when she orderly shoved a needle into his neck, and Will went slack against Brenda. His visions blurred more, voices got slower.

 

All he could hear as he was moved, was his mother voice, slowing down, but whatever she was saying, he couldn’t understand her.

 

***

 

Hannibal was moved twice in the coming weeks. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that Will was also now incarcerated and the _authorities_ wanted to make sure no one knew where Hannibal was; to ensure that no daring escapes or rescues were made possible. They settled on keeping him out of the way in The Institution: Maine. He thought the name was lacking, the accommodation more so. But better than the chair, he supposed. As he lay quiet on his bunk, sans books, letters, magazines, newspapers or anything that might preserve a lesser man’s sanity, he did wonder how they were keeping Will’s mind together after all this.

 

Guilt is a terrible burden.

 

Love is a horrendous affliction.

 

However the unrelenting pressure of _both_ weighing on a damaged mind? Even Hannibal was doubtful the best of the best would see that mind stay together - at least in the way they would like it to. Chaos, true chaos, is known for emitting the most beautiful light as is slowly crushes everything around it with its unrelenting gravity and scrabbling hunger.

 

Hannibal spent his days walking the hallways of his memory palace and all the new and strange pieces that were hanging there. He now had time to study them, namely Will and Cal, from various angles and how utterly strange and wonderful it all was. To his own surprise there was a room aside for Winston. The one thing that had brought Will back when he didn’t. He hoped the authorities gave him a fitting end.

 

Psychiatrists, doctors, lawyers, detectives all came and went. None receiving the information they wanted. Well, not in so many words. The art of a good riddle was honestly lost nowadays. Jack’s murder was firmly pinned to his chest and he wore is proudly, sure he could save himself from the chair better than he could Will. There was no trial. There was no verdict. Everyone knew Hannibal Lecter would die in the bowels of this institution. Everyone but Hannibal. This was merely a slight vacation to repaint and remodel his memory palace. However, it didn’t stop him _waiting_ for some sign that Will was still _alive_ and still _thinking_ of him. But until he was allowed mail, there was no hope of that.

 

As still as a corpse, face just as still and serene blood-dark eyes opened and nostrils flared _Will._ As thick straps of muscles stretched and head tilted back it was just an illusion. Another hopeful interviewer. Sharp cut bob, equally sharp eyes, hard jaw, milk white skin and fine-boned limbs. Not much meat. He moved to standing, hands behind his back, “Good morning.”

 

“Doctor Lecter my name is Clarice Starling…”

 

He beckoned her ever closer more to get a scent than anything, Clearly whip smart and a possible ticket _out_ and back to _Will_ . Her pretty little head, her mind was just _screaming._

 

“You were one of Jack’s weren’t you?” He purred at her from behind bulletproof glass. At least this one had some manners. Pity about the shoes.

 

****

 

Brenda Roberts, which come to find out was her real name, as she never took Will’s father’s name, which he also learned after sometime with her. Everything they suspected was true. Brenda was his real mother, coerced into coming back into his fake life, and she took the opportunity not just for the money, but to get close to Will again. His father dead, it all made sense. At least his mind said it did, but in reality he wanted to scream.

 

They gave him medication to take, which made him docile and stare at the walls mostly. Refusing to take them never worked, as Brenda hid them in his oatmeal she made every morning, which she also spoon fed him.

 

Whatever life Will had ever, was gone.

 

“The FBI called, they said all your charges have been dropped, so long as you stay with me and you check in once a month,” Brenda said, spooning more oatmeal up and offering it to Will, but this time he shook his head. They were keeping him out of any institution for a reason, as it would be much easier for Hannibal to find him that way.

 

“You have to eat.”

 

“No,” Will murmured and she shoved the spoon in his mouth anyway. Usually, Will just took it, but today he spit it back at her, unusually irritable.

 

She wiped it off, trying to be the patient mother Will needed right now, but he was trying her last nerve.

 

“You know, I think I know what would make you happiest, Will. A nice long trip. I’ll get it okay’d with your parole officers, and we’ll go down to Florida, so you can fish.”

 

Will just stared at her, jaw flexing and moving, but he said nothing. It was always best to say nothing.

 

***

 

Months passed without much change. Hannibal couldn’t even track the movement and sun and moon from his cell, the stars blinked on regardless and he knew the date, the day, and the time regardless. It was all time passing and counting down until he found Will again. He did wonder how his dark head was revolving on its fragile axis.

 

Starling kept coming, trying to dissect him. She was boring but persistent and there was something about her scent that brought him back to a better place. As the prisoners grew rude around her, he found a way to be fond of her, the way he would a sister. But he was quite sure she didn’t see it that way, the way she shuddered and winced was delightful. Especially when he made that Miggs swallow his own tongue - soft minds equal soft wills.

 

Eventually she fessed up her need to solve a case and pick his brain and with all things urgent best to get personal than professional - under their skins, as Gumb would say. He continued his game of quid pro quo with her, squeezing a deal from her to escape this Institution for somewhere warmer in return for information on Gumb. Hannibal also demanded access to books, newspapers and letters - hoping in time that Will would think to reach out. To his wonder Starling was able to pull apart his riddles and make her own way in the world despite the oppressive male entities swarming around her like the pesky shit-flies they were.

 

But every night, when the games for the day were done, there was only one place he retired too. Strange and fractured as it was, his place with Will and Call were an oasis of sanity in this grimy hole.

 

***

 

People wrote Will and Cal letters. Sympathetic ones that were sent through the FBI to his mother, who read them first, and laughed at all the ‘quacks’ who really believed Will had been a religious leader at all. Had he not been drugged under most of the time, Will was sure he’d have killed her, as he had no attachment to her not even now.

 

Newspaper clippings were sent of recent crimes and murders, things people seemed to think _Will_ might like to see, but one sent was from Freddie Lounds herself, a clipping of a woman, Agent Starling, working on a case and consulting with Lecter from an unknown institute.

 

“See? He’s moved on. That woman took your job, Will,” Brenda said, “And your _man_.” The last bit was snarled in some disgust as she sipped on her bourbon, and handed Will the clipping.

 

Dull, sea blue eyes scanned the article, a raging, boiling, jealous fever starting in his gut, but with nowhere to go but to fester and fester…

 

Will crumpled the article and threw it into the fire and stood, hazy, and unsettled on his feet.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Brenda asked, brow raised up at him, watching him falter, and looked over at her with cold, dead eyes.

 

“Fishing.”

 

***

 

Hannibal hummed in his bunk reminding himself of Will’s advice. _Much harder to get a catch a fish a second time. You need to use live bait, excite them to act._ Starling was Hannibal’s live bait. Will was his catch.

 

Starling was growing ever closer, fessing up more of her personal details, her psych growing attached despite her cool resolve. How he missed Will’s _humanity_ . What Starling was not aware of was that Hannibal’s room was bugged, his every movement monitored. The Institute heads were not willing to let Lecter go under any circumstance. Hannibal the Cannibal meant _fame_ and fame brought _research funds_. Before Starling could retrieve the final pieces to the puzzle of the ever strange Jamie Gumb the director revealed the deal was a sham, as suspected but oh so beneath Starling.

 

He berated her, in his own way of course, when she returned. He made clear that their little game of quid pro quo was done with until he was _finally_ moved somewhere _warmer._ Much like Hannibal, Starling was not one to go back on her promises. The screaming in her head simply wouldn’t allow her to. Despite her pretty little head and quick wit she was still so unlike that dark featured horror that caged a slippery mind: Will Graham - never predictable, never expected, never _boring_.

 

As the case of Buffalo Bill grew ever hotter interviews came thick and fast and Hannibal dropped tid bit after tid bit of his connection to Starling. There was two things Will Graham did not like and that was _sharing_ and not _understanding_.

 

Both Hannibal and Will would know who Buffalo Bill was, if either one cared to try, but that was not the game either was really playing. Jamie Gumb was just a trading card in the game for freedom - no matter how brutal it may be.

 

***

 

Every new article that appeared about Buffalo Bill made Will want to split hairs. A few times he refused to eat, refused to drink, just to get a clear head,  and raged even more. Every side of him was livid, every side of him felt out of control and useless. If anything, the medication made him have internal arguments with him as words hardly made it to form past singular.

 

Brenda took him out to fish a few times a week, on a boat she bought with his money from the movement, watching him as she guzzled a bottle and read trashy romance novels and tabloids.

 

Will started to wonder if it wasn’t just _easier_ to drown for real this time. But, ‘mama’ always had a sturdy hand on him, never, and never quite drunk enough to let him. Hannibal would chide him for it anyway.

 

Instead, Will looked over at his mother and pushed an unsteady hand out for her bottle. Mixing it with his medications was likely not the wisest of choices, but what little life did he really have left? Or hope for that reason?

 

“There’s my boy,” Brenda said, and handed the bottle over to her son with a gruesome smile.

 

***

 

Almost a year in, Hannibal has resorted to pacing his cell. Either Will was still in jail or he simply was not taking the bait, long fingers rapped over tight knuckles. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Starling - just the once, their usual greeting. It was unspoken between them that Hannibal knew who Buffalo Bill was but his cards were on the table. It was no longer about getting closer to where Will may or may not be but simply somewhere he could get free from. Another unspoken truth between them. Hannibal couldn’t help but bask in the fear that glinted in her eyes as the deal was made. But as all polite things were done, ladies first.

 

Mustering all the charisma a woman like her, in those shoes, could muster, she arranged to have Hannibal moved in return for the final puzzle piece. He could not fault her courage, the heart of a lion when faced with the likes of him. Hannibal made _quite_ sure Will Graham, no matter where he was, would be aware of the deal.

 

***

 

Oh hearing that Hannibal Lecter was moved _closer_ , Brenda set up a meeting. She left Cal (as he wanted to be called the last few days) in the hands of caregivers assigned by the FBI, and drove to the prison. She was briefed in the usuals, not to get too close, not to cross over a certain line, and not to goad him. The man was a killer after all.

 

Brenda was escorted down the cell halls, and left there, just in front of Hannibal Lecter’s cell.

 

“So, you’re _the_ Hannibal Lecter.”

 

Hannibal kept his face to the wall as he tilted his head up to scent the rudeness that had walked in and broken rule one, _don’t goad._ But all he could smell was Will.

 

He turned and smiled, “A pleasure, _mother_.”

 

Brenda smiled, something nasty, as if she’d never really had a good day, but never a bad one either. She reeked of Alcohol, whether she was drunk now or not, it was an ever present smell.

 

“You did quite a number on my son. I’m just now getting him _back_.”

 

Hannibal kept his hands behind his back as he drew closer, his smile neither warm, nor cold, nor vicious. In two sentences she had given him all he needed, but she hadn’t given him what _Will_ needed yet.

 

“Did you think of him?”

 

Specifically where she lived and had Will, she would never give, just that she had him.

 

“Of course I did. He’s my son. Jack Crawford told me all about you and what you did to him. You deserve to be dead.”

 

“Don’t we all, my dear. Indulge me, tell me _exactly_ what I did to your little boy?” Projection was a wicked little tool the mind liked to play on the truly guilty. Where Starling’s conscious was pure aside from the blood of lambs, this stinking lump had a ruined boy on her hands and the only _real_ blame started with her.

 

“Convinced him to embrace his darkness. Turned him into a killer,” Brenda snarled, doing all she could not to step forward. “But we’re fixing him.”

 

“Tricky difference between coercion and persuasion. Do you feel a great need, a great _duty_ to _fix_ , mother?” Hannibal had no need to move beyond the very spot he stood, at ease with everything he had rattling around his bone arena unlike the woman in front of him who had to drown out a child’s cries with sloshes of burning brown liquid.

 

“My _son_ , yes,” She said, abrasively.

 

“Yes, yes, your son. Have you managed to _fix_ those pesky cries of his at night?”

 

Brenda’s eyes flashed with  anger. There were things she could not fix about her son, she could only medicate him and keep him under, and docile. She even let him drink, knowing full well it would only make it worse, but at least he _slept_ now.  
  
“No.”

 

Hannibal almost admired the woman’s honesty. Will still _cried_ not only in his dreams but hers. He took a small step forward first with one foot before bringing the other neatly into line with it. “And what about your own cries, _mother_ ? Do you feel a duty to fix those or just suffer through those long nights _alone_?” Only now did he flash his killers smile full of sharp teeth and blood eyes.

 

Brenda just smiled, uneasily. Will never talked about Hannibal, but he cried out for him a lot in his sleep.

 

“I came just to see what it is he found so interesting in you. I just don’t see it.”

 

Hannibal lifted his head back, eyes closed, a serene smile on his face. Although he had nothing to prove, he was never against a little _fun._ “Blood type, AB positive, alcohol content approximately .9%. But you don’t like beer. Spirits only. Drunk out of stale coffee cups. Only equal in consumption to cigarettes. I suspect it is difficult for you to see much of anything, no matter how functional they have diagnosed you as. Tell me, _mother_ , did you think coaxing the dear boy to drink again would get him _back?_ ” He slowly lowered his head and waited for her to reply. “We both know that alcohol contradicts the medication they have him on.” Hannibal nodded at her fingers, “You still have a little stuck under your nail from where you crush it into his oatmeal of a morning. He prefers eggs, if you must know.”

 

“I didn’t make him drink. He asked for it, right after your little stunt with that other FBI agent,” Brenda sneered. She picked at her nails, grumbling a little, something about ‘lucky if he eats anything’.

 

Hannibal was not the least bit surprised, considering the way stale grease clung to this woman. Before she had a chance to blink Hannibal was by the bars, his face neatly pressed between the bars, “I do hear he likes _cock_. Have you tried catching any lately? Slippery little things, aren’t they?” His eyes flashed wide with glee as he watched her.

 

Brenda stared him down, arms cross over her heavy chest. “And where I find that? You? I don’t think so.” The guards notice Hannibal get too close and came quickly, ushering Brenda out. “This ain’t over. You better hope you stay in there, Lecter!”

 

How Hannibal did enjoy a challenge, and so much meat. Although nothing he was willing to put inside his body. However, he was quite sure the alligators would be hungry this time of year.

 

***

Hannibal smiled at the newspapers were brought to him, his name headlining again. He was not used to the limelight being stolen from him and certainly not by the likes of Jamie Gumb. He decided to punctuate his point with one empty cell, two freshly chewed tongues and a neat riddle for Starling’s eyes only. What became of her from there, was of no concern of his. He would let her know that, in time. Fear was a great motivator like that.

 

Ever a master of disguise, Hannibal set to work resetting his look to something casual, almost slummish and he spearheaded his own investigation into whatever had become of Will Graham/Cal Roberts and why that wonderful rage of his had never spiked enough to act. Or perhaps those years of silence was his message. Maybe this time they were through. If so, Hannibal was determined to make him say it himself, before ripping his tongue clean out.

 

That was of course after he disposed of that vile excuse of a woman who dared call herself _mother_ to the great Will Graham.

***

 

Brenda had stopped letting Will drink. She continued to force feed the pills to him, this time in greasy eggs, as she attempting some sort of meal for him every morning. She was determined to try and be a little better to Will, or Cal, or whatever he was calling himself these days.

 

Today, Will snatched the fork from her with a glare that could kill, and stabbed her hand with it, tired and exhausted, growing wearier by the day, sure his mind was melting from all the drugs he’d been given.

 

Brenda let out a hiss and ran to the sink, swearing at her son as she pulled the fork out of her hand, washing the wound.  
  
“You little brat! This is how you repay me?” she squabble at him, and Will started to drown her out, closing his eyes, and putting himself into the stream, into the Light.

 

The door closed silently behind Hannibal as he tugged at his gloves, deciding it was wiser to keep them on for now, “I would consider that payment somewhat short changed, _mother_.” Hannibal looked around the grease pit of a home, knowing he didn’t have long before the authorities caught up. “Shall I do the honors, or…?” Will’s answer would tell him everything he needed to know as his gaze flicked once to the pig whining over the kitchen sink.

 

Brenda paled, now faced with the man from behind the bars, no longer locked up. Will opened his eyes, feeling as though he were dreaming. Sickly blue eyes locked on to the other man’s form, and Will stumbled to his feet, much thinner, tanned, hair uncut and so shaggy.

 

“Hannibal?”

 

Hannibal opened one arm, extending it towards Will, “Will…” His own unkempt appearance not much better although he had certainly managed to keep on more weight than the other. That fact alone enough to tug his full lips down just enough to show his displeasure but nothing to quell the glint in his eyes shining from the moment his name had rolled off his boy’s tongue.

 

To keep Will where he belonged, paroled, he had a bracelet on his ankle, an alarm, keeping him close to home and the property surrounding it. He dragged his feet over to Hannibal and touching him, at first, blinking the fog from his mind as he felt flesh with his bony fingers. Brenda watched them, looking around for something to defend herself as Will’s mind worked over the events of the last year.  
  
“Where’s the girl? My cheap replacement?”

 

“It seems you need to brush up on your fishing.” Brow arched as he wrapped a long arm around Will, dragging him against his chest. It was clear Will was in no state to manage this situation as it needed to be.

 

Mind a muddled mess, Will or Cal, whoever, was not able to manage a lot of things, weakened with lack of food, more on his part for not wanting to eat it. But as he was pulled to Hannibal, and berated with that clipped tone, Will pushed back on Hannibal, catching on to words, things said moments before, and looked over at his mother, who was holding a dirty rag to her wounded hand.

 

“Will… Cal,” she said, trying to reason, a knife in her free hand, but Will stalked her anyway, staggering, grabbing the heavy tea kettle on his way over to her as she bolted for it.

 

Hannibal didn’t let her get far, a few quick strides and he caught her by the greasy locks of curls and twisted them tight in his fist, holding her out like the sack of meat she was, ready to be put down. He nodded to Will, he had to know they were back in synch here. If not, he had a clean strip of wire ready to put the pig to slaughter.

 

Brenda tried to stab at Hannibal but the knife dropped, and Will caught it, and stabbed her right in the eye with it, all the way through her socket and into her skull, not a beat missed. He dropped the kettle on her limp body as Hannibal let her go. He took a few deep breaths and looked at Hannibal.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

Hannibal nodded but first dropped to his knees at Will’s feet to study the bracelet. “Keep that on until we can get to a river or stream. It will hurt, but I can get it off, do you trust me?” He looked up, hand gently closing over his calf and gently smoothing up to cup behind his knee.

 

The brunet nodded his head slowly, hand resting on Hannibal’s shoulder, he could be mad and angry later about the agent, but right now time was not on their side.

 

“I… trust you.”

 

“Winston?” The only other weight that dragged the cannibal down here before they fled.

 

“Therapy dog,” Will said, and whistled, the now mangy dog who looked just as worse for wear as his owner, ran in from outside, wagging at Hannibal.

 

Hannibal smiled and then ushered them both outside into a small van he had waiting, eyes scanning the road and surrounds before keying up the car and revving the motor. He was aware the detox and rehabilitation of both Will and Winston was going to be a long road especially after what was coming next.

 

It wasn’t far to the next swamp. He pulled in and parked the car well off the road and got out, opening Will’s car door but indicating he stay still. “There’s only one way this is coming off you understand? That is unless you want to alert them immediately?” Hannibal pulled out what crude tools he had - chisel and hammer.

 

For a brief moment Cal thought Hannibal meant to have them  electrocuted in the water, and Will berated them both for the thought, and got out of the van.

 

“This is fine,” he murmured.

 

Hannibal nodded, knowing this was not the ideal reunion. He guided Will to sit and then lie back. The moment his head hit the ground Hannibal smacked the hammer and chisel hard against the metal, shattering the brace and Will’s ankle along with it. The metal fell free and the alarm was swallowed by the quick moving muds but Will’s screams went on and on. Throwing the tools in after the brace, Hannibal scooped Will up and carried him back to the van, a fretting Winston following close behind. He didn’t have time to dress the wound but he had one shot of morphine, lifted from one of the ever so tasty nurses he bid farewell to only hours ago.

 

It was then Hannibal resumed driving, Will woozy at his side and Winston sleeping. He didn’t stop driving until they were clear of the state line and booked them into a ‘by the hour’ motel for the night as he set to work, cleaning them up for the flight ahead the next day.

 

He opened the door for Will and extended his hand, “Come.”

 

World blurring from the morphine and coming down from the medication, Will hobbled, dragging his broken ankle behind him, hand wrenched in tight against Hannibal’s.

 

“Where are we?”

 

Hannibal scooped an arm under Will and carried him into the room, Winston instantly making himself at home on the bed much to his disdain. “Somewhere safe.” He eased him down into a chair and immediately started working on ripping up bedsheets to set Will’s ankle, taking what liberties he could to brush over the tender flesh.

 

“We thought you left us,” Will said, seemingly having meant Winston, but in his fragmented mind, he meant him and Cal.

 

“Hm?” Hannibal would need more clarification. “I was in prison Will, where did I leave you? I waited for you, you never came. I even set up live bait.” Meaning Clarice. Once Will’s ankle was wrapped up he carried him to bed, lay him back and left to go to the bathroom to bring back scissors and a razer, only to start cutting away the long curls and shaving his face. They would both need to change their appearance before the flight tomorrow. Swift and gentle hands moved over Will’s jaw and neck, eyes drifting up and back again, Hannibal still unsure if Will would even come with him.

 

His mother had said a lot of things, so had the people he’d seen, who gave her the drugs to give to him. His mind had been very pliable, but the longer he was off them, the more became clear. Will’s fingers threaded through Hannibal’s hair, resting there.

 

“You’re right, sorry,” Cal said, more apologetic than he might have been a year ago. “Couldn’t leave.” His ankle throbbed.

 

Hannibal hummed as he nudged Will’s head back, baring his throat and the razor glided over the skin, soft and quick. “Did you _want_ to leave?” His eyes flicked up once before resuming.

 

“Everyday,” Cal whispered, too stuck and too out of their own control to really grasp for reality and get out. He loled his head back, trusting the other man completely in the task at hand.

 

“And your movement?” He turned his head and finished the other side, wiping down his now clean shaven face and running a hand through his hair. His eyes quickly looked to Winston would would need grooming. Not to mention food. This was going to be a long night.

 

“It’s not mine and it never was,” Cal said, his head growing more and more clear, the medication having done nothing but dull their senses. “Steve is dead and the other 10Rs have removed me from the movement all together.”

 

Hannibal’s hand brushed Will’s “Do you miss them?” Quite aware at one point Will was giving up their life together to stay with the movement.

 

The Movement abandoned him when things got rough, left him to his mother and the hands of the FBI, who did this to him anyway. Will and Cal’s attachment to something better was bittersweet and at an end.

 

“No.”

 

“And me?” The hand he was brushing he now clasped and brought to his lips, tender flesh to rough.

 

“Everyday.”

 

Hannibal lay both their hands back in Will’s lap, cupped his jaw and leaned into kiss but stopped short, gaze looking over him - watching, “May I?”

 

Will canted his head toward Hannibal, to brush their lips together slowly. “You never have to ask.”

 

It had been so long apart Hannibal wasn’t about to start taking selfish liberties - too soon, anyway. The flat bed of his palm bringing his face up just that bit he shifted and kissed down into those soft lips with a groan, chaste but warm with low licks of passion. He lingered there a long moment, tasting and feeling his boy under him before moving back again, “Good.” He smiled. “But you are _far_ too thin.” He looked around the motel room. A room by the hour did not have a kitchen and Hannibal was not versed in ordering take out. “What do you eat?”

 

“Anything but what she makes,” Cal huffed out, licking his lips for the taste of Hannibal, a dull ache in his chest, thumping there with his heart beat seemed to take life with the same ache in his ankle.

 

Hannibal nodded with a faint smile. “I’ll order us something.” He said flicking through the tacky take out menu. Some sacrifices were worst than others as he sighed and dialled. Sifting through the bathroom he dug up an old comb and lowered himself the the floor, grimacing against the tackiness and dog hair as he started to drag the comb through the long knots and dregs. His gaze kept drifting back to Will wanting nothing more than to wrap his limbs around him in an embrace against the wall but preparations needed to be made. “Did you honestly think I could replace you?” He brushed the excess hair off the comb.

 

“It’s easy to believe something when stories are made up about it,” Will said, quietly, unmoving, just watching Hannibal, mostly. “When your reality is nothing more than shifting faces and spoonfuls of oatmeal shoved down your throat.”

 

Hannibal’s brow furrowed just enough to convey his displeasure. “It sounds like they spun you a tale of hell than one of heaven.” Everyone knew it was easier for the mind to settle in a happy ever after. He washed his hands of fur and just as the food came - tucked away in small paper boxes that made Hannibal’s mouth drag down even further, “Do you trust me enough to build us a better story, Will?” He sat on the bed, it sinking under the weight of his thighs rolling Will just that bit closer to him.

 

“Yes,” Will said, moving closer to Hannibal, the smell of food drifting into his nostrils, and making him sigh a little as his stomach gurgled at the thought of putting anything in it. “Completely.”

 

Hannibal opened up the boxes, offering the rice and vegetables to Winston whilst he slipped in beside Will, “Good. It will be hard to eat but at least take a few bites.” His nosed up the side of his neck slipping to kiss the back of it. “How do you feel about Japan?”

 

Will looked at the food and nodded, taking a few bites, and nestling back against Hannibal’s affections. His mother was not affectionate, and most of time she was bitter and goading with Will, as if trying to find something to change in him if she made him burst out angrily.

 

“Japan?”

 

Hannibal looked at the food and set it aside in favor of stroking Will’s curls back as he ate. His lean limbs sinking against the breadth of his muscle as if seeking to stroke up the strength and warmth there, both of which Hannibal conceded willingly. “Dog friendly. Far away. New. Together.” All the words dropped softly against Will’s ear, coaxing him into the idea.  

 

No coaxing needed, Will nodded his head, set his own food aside, and turned to Hannibal, careful to only twist his upper body, and looked at him. “Anywhere. I should have said that a year ago, and then we’d be gone already.”

 

Hannibal did not indulge in regrets or seeing Will harming himself more than necessary. He eased them both back down in the bed, his head pressed to his chest as he had always done - nothing changed. “In less than a day we will be free of all this.” He kissed his forehead inhaling deep and long.

 

“Sounds like bliss,” Will sighed, arms around Hannibal, only wanting to be close, in case for whatever reason he woke from this dream.

 

Hannibal assured him it would be, holding him close until his breathing slowed and his eyelids finally rested shut. Only then did the cannibal sleep for  a while before he was up and gathering their things. The moment he heard the bed groan and shift he moved back to Will’s side, brushing down his face with a kiss.

 

Will smiled hazily up at Hannibal, “Time to go?”

 

Hannibal nodded. Everything was packed, car and Winston waiting, all that remained was for Will, once again, to take his hand.

 


End file.
